Veiled Sorceress
by Snowmaiden Freya
Summary: Synopsis: Voldemort is dead. But there's nothing left for her. Estranged by friends and her uncle Lupin, the forlorn Laelette leaves the waking world. Not to the next Great Adventure, but truly to a new realm unlike any she's ever dreamt of before. One that has great need of her. Fem Harry. X-over. Also FemSlash!
1. Prologue

_**Prologue**_

* * *

People always expected Harry Potter to become an Auror when the war had finally ended. He was one of the greatest wizards who had ever lived because of his accomplishments. A real celebrity of the highest caliber for something out of anyone's control and ultimately a freakish accident of circumstances. And then raised even higher for becoming the Dark Lord's Conqueror...

Except that the 'Boy-Who-Lived' was a ruse coined up by the late Albus Percival Brian Wulfric Dumbledore. A machination of a misguided old man with a zealotrous belief of the 'Greater Good'. Harry Potter never existed other than in a fictional sentiment. Instead, the real one to survive the Killing Curse was actually a young witch of a similar name. Well not really, but the familial relation was the same. Laelette Alice Evans was Lily (Potter)'s daughter, certainly. But she was forced to live a lie for nine years because of the manipulative headmaster of Hogwarts. It was a charade kept up under the pretense that a man would make for a more ideal beacon of hope than an emotionally scarred little girl.

The lanky and slightly muscular young man with olive green eyes and untamable blackish brown hair was just a runic enchantment that glamored the witch's true beauty. Beneath the illusion, Laelette had piercing avada green eyes that held a limitless magical potential. Those emeralds always shone with intelligence and a sharp wit borne of a silver tongue. But the other facet hidden in her eyes was a fierce and terrifying temper. Sleek raven black tresses often cascaded down her back when not in a braided crown. She was tall for a woman, a witch especially. Even with growing up with abusive and neglectful relatives, Laelette had grown to an astonishing six foot three (approximately 170 cm). Well after a few probably illegal growth charms and nutrient potions she'd taken in her sixth year. She had a svelte physique, but not unhealthily so. As a youthful punk would describe her, Laelette had 'legs for days'. Despite her thinness, the dark haired witch sported an impressive bust. From the photos of her mother, Laelette found out she was two or three times larger than the petite redhead.

And if she had been honest with herself, Laelette would have not been sorted into Gryffindor as the self proclaimed leader of Light had schemed, the last Potter (read Evans) would have most certainly been sorted a serpent of Slytherin or Ravenclaw if she had wanted to be even more cunning. Her charade as 'Harry' made her play second best to Hermione and on 'par' with Ron Weasley. A true snake in a lion's den. And none had been the wiser. That had worked out for the most part. But during her stay at the magical institution, she would be just fine never seeing a penis ever again. Seven years in a dormitory with teenage boys had been an utter nightmare and she'd never been able to speak a word to a soul. Something she would repress into a vault via occlumency.

But after finishing her last year at Hogwarts, Laelette had formally taken up her lordship as Head of House Potter. And despite that she was so wealthy that she would never have to work a day in her life to live comfortably, Lily ( after her deceased mother as she preferred as of late) had immediately been inducted as an apprentice into the Department of Mysteries. She devoted her studies well with her induction to the secret order within the Ministry. Few knew of what they really did and fewer knew their identities.

Her master had been Saul Croaker, a tall man with broad shoulder. He almost always spoke in whispers. Or even in sign language if he didn't feel like talking. Within the first year she worked under him, he had become like an eccentric grandfather she'd never known.

By the time she was twenty one, Laelette was inducted as a fully fledged member of the Unspeakables. Her specialty: mysterious magical artifacts. With her work during her sixth and seventh year hunting horcruxes, she already had a head start with dark objects. She had quickly become the leader in long forgotten, dangerous or indecipherable magical objects. She became so skilled in her craft that she even became the shadow head of the Department of Misuse of Magical Artifacts. While she kept to the shadow, it was her anonymous correspondence with the Office Head that kept it afloat and she prided herself in her work around the government.

A few months ago, an artifact had been uncovered a few miles south of Stonehenge. It was something the researchers had never come across before. The strange markings were in an alphabet that had never been discovered before which made its value soar even higher. Stumbling upon it may be have been the beginning of the climb to the pinnacle of her career. All she needed to do was decipher the meaning of the runes inscribed on the stone and figure out what the artifact did.

The more determined Laelette became to crack the puzzle of this latest enigma, the more strained her relationships with her friends had become. Especially after the secret of 'him' really being a her and the scandal that followed afterword. It had driven the rift between her and her friends further apart.

And then there was the whole 'immortality' thing that always weighed heavily on the back of Laelette's mind. That she would always outlive everyone she loved, why she could never marry someone who's life was insignificant and ephemeral. In the rivers of time, she would remain unchanged and pristine while everyone withered and decayed before her eyes. She both cursed and praised her inability to die. How it had happened was a funny thing. Incredibly stupid, but nonetheless hilarious.

After the events of her first year as a fledgling mage, Laelette had opted to keep the Philosopher's Stone rather than hand it over to a man she knew was quite off his rocker. A simple little white lie stating that the stone had been destroyed in the process of defeating Quirrell was enough to placate the headmaster. And no one had really questioned about what had become of said artifact. Not even Ron or Hermione had known she had kept the amber-red stone of eternal life. It had lain forgotten at the bottom of her trunk and it seemed it would like there only to collect dust.

Following her first year was the incident with the Chamber of Secrets. Everyone had thought she had gone a little mad when she made claims about hearing a voice in the walls which in turn, had pitted her against the rest of the school of whether or not she was the Heir of Slytherin. Of course Laelette wasn't crazy and it had really been a basilisk slithering through the school's plumbing system. Everyone else simply couldn't understand parseltongue but her.

It wasn't until the final message claiming that the 'true Heir of Slytherin' had dragged her so called 'best' friend's younger sister into the Chamber. Its entrance was hidden below the second floor girl's bathroom which was either absolutely bonkers or absolutely genius.

The useless Professor Lockhart had proven himself an utter fraud when he attempted to obliviate two thirds of the 'golden trio' and ended up wiping his own mind. Then the wall collapsed, locking her into the chamber to face whatever monster was in there. Which so happened to be a thousand year old basilisk under the control of a **/MEMORY** / of Voldemort when he was sixteen or so. Practically single handedly (if you don't count a nosy sorting hat and a flaming chicken), Laelette had slain the basilisk with the Sword of Gryffindor and used its fang to destroy a diary (later she had learned it had been a horcrux).

Twelve year old logic had her thinking the stone would behave not dissimilar to a bezoar and it would purge the volatile venom coursing in her veins. So she did the kingpin of stupidly brazen ideas and swallowed the Philosopher's Stone.

Making matters worse, Fawkes had come along and cried on the wound where the basilisk fang had pierced her. All she remembered at the time, was the agony. It had been blurry. Having been unconscious for a full week, the St Mungo's staff had been unable to figure out what had exactly happened in that chamber.

To this day, no one knows what the reaction between basilisk venom, phoenix tears and an 'unknown' magical compound had reacted had done to her. But Lily knew, vaguely. She had been there in that chamber when it happened. She had been reborn, almost as a complete magical construct her her essence and soul to inhabit. To the rest of the world, she remained to be a normal, albeit very powerful witch.

At last the runed arch crackled to life, drawing Lily out of her nostalgia powered reverie. No one else was around to document such a momentous occasion. And she was too paranoid at this point to consider writing down her progress with the strange arch.

She studied what the online portal looked like. With the arch now active. She could see some snow, some trees. It could just be leading to the mountains somewhere in the realm of Earth. Or it could send her to an entirely new world or even universe.

"Just in case I don't come back, I've brought everything I think I might need to survive in another world, or the wilderness at any case.

Without looking back, Laelette Evans-Potter leaped into the gate!

* * *

 **A/N: I know, it might be a little annoying that it's a short chapter, but hey, it's something to look forward to.**


	2. I did not consent to this!

**A/N: So. I've decided on a number of things. Because I'm a raging lesbian edgequeen, the pairing will be Fem!Harry x ...shit I don't know. Also chaaaange of plans. This ain't a Skyrim crossover anymore. Warcraft moved in instead just to spite all y'all.**

 _ **It's been awhile since I did any sort of warcraft fanfiction. I wanted to change that. And so, this happened. This fic is the product between like...three different pieces of inspiration. I recently read the Lady Death comics, which is pretty good. A few months back, I discovered a fanfic titled 'Sanity is Quite Simply Overrated' or something along those lines. Lastly, Warcraft and its extensions have brought me much joy over the years. So I told myself, ah what the hell, let's mash em together and see what ungodly abomination it becomes. Or something along those lines.**_

 _ **Alternate title for the story: Death Maiden**_

 _ **Disclaimer: World of Warcraft and varying intellectual property belongs to Chris Metzen and Blizzard Ent. If I owned even a bit, I would have made sure Warlords of Draenor never existed. Enjoy~**_

 **PS: The story will mainly be written in first person. I will specify changes in point of view to hopefully prevent confusion.**

 **PSS, Enjoy!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter I**_

The portal had thrown me into an unceremonious heap on frosted grass. Or probably what was more snow than grass at any rate. Before anything else, I realized that it was COLD AS FUCK! I had not thought to apply heating charms. Then again, this was not exactly the sort of climate I expected to end up. That folly was on myself. I quickly rectified that, settling my nerves once warmth kept the biting cold from my bones.

As I climbed to my feet, it was plain to see that I was definitely not in Britain anymore. All around me, were rising drifts of snow and mountainous terrain as far as my eyes could see. Plains, swamps and deciduous trees as far as the eye could see. When my gaze drew skyward, it was no minor discovery to see an extremely clear sky with unfamiliar constellations. More surprising were the two moons. But what alarmed me the most, was how much this realm was seeped in magic.

My hands instinctively went to the jewelry around my neck, my ears and my navel. They were all still there. It wasn't because I was worried about the baubles themselves, but for what they contained. In my last year of Hogwarts after I had defeated Tom Riddle once and for all, I had learned how to make permanent compression and containment charms. Pair that with undetectable expansion and featherlight charms, I essentially created a hammer space for emergency items. I had also rebuilt my school trunk from the ground up and it now resembles something like the one Mad Eye Moody had in my fourth year. I also found from one of Nicholas Flamel's journals that I didn't really need to use a wand to cast magic. It had been more of a hindrance; using wands only became the norm once magical staves went out of fashion and convenience went into demand. Eventually, Wizarding people forgot how to use magic without the crux of a focus. But enough nostalgia. I ought to get moving before a blizzard decides to strike.

So as I'm approaching some sort of hoarfrost covered grove, a bolt of uncoalesced teal-blue energy begins flowing from the bones sticking out of the ice. While coagulating into a stream, it shot towards me before I had a chance to run. It had struck me square in the chest. Maybe I expected it to leave a bruise when it hit me. But when it went inside of me, I didn't know what was happening. Then it hit me. Like the Knight Bus at full speed.

Pain. I was in a lot of fucking pain. If I had blacked out, it would have saved me from the utter agony I experienced. Take a cruciatus curse and multiply it by ten lethal doses of basilisk venom. By whatever gods were in this world, I wanted it to end. Why couldn't I die already?

What felt like an hour of torment but was more like only fifteen minutes, the turmoil I had been experiencing began to ebb away. I felt good even, like someone had pumped me full of both morphine and the highest strength pain relieving potion gold could buy. Maybe this time, I would finally die for real this time. And after everything I have lived through, I would most certainly welcome it.

XXxX

When my eyes opened, I found myself sitting in a chair. It seemed that I was facing a strange view. The building seemed to have been built into the side of a cliff overlooking an ocean of sorts. Outside the glass, I could see strange winged creatures fluttering above the water. Their grotesque jaws snapping at something in the cresting waves. Occasionally, a massive shark-like creature would snap up at any who hovered too close.

The only door to the room opened and slammed just, pulling me out of my reverie of the twisted wildlife. Upon turning around, I discovered that there was now a person and I would use that term loosely. They wore long black robes that spoke nothing of gender. But the form beneath it was unmistakably female.

"And so the Mistress arrives," began the strange robed woman, taking long strides towards me. It was mere seconds before she was inches away. "I have been waiting for you. I'm a little disappointed it took so long," she chided. "Regardless, you have finally come. I even had to orchestrate a little intervention to make such events happen."

"And you are?" I asked dryly.

The woman scoffed, "I'm hurt and appalled you failed to recognize me. Mortals know me as Nephthys, Hel, Mictecacihuatl, Ereshkigal, Izanami, or the Morrigan. These days, I go by Persephone. It's such a cute name and so I borrowed it from that silly Greek mythos. Lady Death, at your service."

"This means I'm finally dead then?"

The woman nodded. "Well, more or less."

"Okay, so why am I not moving onto heaven, or whatever it's called. I died so I could finally joins my parents and friends in the afterlife," I growled.

"Well," began Persephone, "it's like this. Heaven, Valhalla, the Eternal Gardens and every other name for the afterlife. It's out of reach, at least in your case. You can't go to Elysium. Ever."

What?

"Yes, I admit you are typically not one to jump head first into the jaws of certain doom. So in fairness, I altered the coordinates of your portal jump to bring you somewhere that would bring you close to perishing. This is solely so I would be able to meet you. This time, for honestly goodness, no more real than it gets. But I digress. Since you are thrice immortal," the figure said disdainfully, "This is only a temporary allotment."

Frowning, I said after a long sigh, "What do you mean, temporary?"

"You won your freedom from the ravages of time, death and illness. As a child, you swallowed the Philosopher's Stone. Upon delivering souls whom long evaded me on Terra, you have offered enough whole souls to satisfy your own payment. Then your foolishness causing you to contract sanguinus vampiris, causing yet another form of immortality. And finally by uniting the Deathly Hallows, you have become my Mistress. As I am loath to admit, I cannot touch you. Well, not in the traditional sense. So my only other option is to set you into a parallel world by the name of Azeroth." As I was about to interrupt, a pale hand was held up, "Questions may wait until the end of my little speech here. Now where was I? Oh yes, reincarnation. Sort of. I don't exactly have the permission to put your soul into an unborn child. That's not my domain. But as my name speaks for itself, death is mine. With the power of unholy restoration and necromancy, we can build one anew. One that's not as fragile as your current visage." Persephone flourished a hand that immediately illuminates the full expanse of the room.

Nearly more than a thousand different lifelike holograms appeared before me. I'd had to close my eyes from the sudden flash of light. I blinked several times. Once my eyes grew accustomed to the change of brightness, I began to peruse the different models I'd been presented with.

First I saw the humans of Azeroth. Nothing special other than a little stockier and in better shape than most people on Earth. Following that, I was presented with a tall humanoid. A night elf or Kaldorei said the glowing plaque. Averaging between six to nine feet tall while fully grown; skin hue ranging to pale blue to a rich dark violet. Elves, but instead of subtle tapered ears lime in high fantasy novels Muggles wrote, these had long knife-like ears that were at least eight inches long at the minimum. There were a few other elven models existing as well. Sin'dorei also known as the Blood Elves. Fair skin, burning green eyes, often snobbish. Shal'dorei, basically night elves but spent almost ten thousand years drinking from a font of power called the Night Well and dubbing themselves Nightborne. The most recent one to exist was called Ren'dorei or the Void Elves which were basically blood elves who fucked with the wrong kind of magic. Lastly, there were the Darkfallen, formally known as the San'layn. Essentially, they were vampiric elves to drew magic and sustenance from blood. The more powerful ones could even grow large batlike wings.

"These are kind of detailed plaques. And why are they all naked?" I called out. "And a bit biased."

With a shrug, Persephone replied, "Sue me. You ought to know what you're getting into when you pick a race. We haven't got all morning, so get to it, Mistress."

I gave a derisive snort and returned to sorting through the slow rotating projections. The next few models were self explanatory. Gnomes, Dwarves and Goblins. The latter being mostly unlike the ones on Terra. Instead of being ugly, vicious and generally unpleasant, the goblins of Azeroth. They were green, greedy but not unpleasant to look at. But they did share the love for gold. Backpedaling to the dwarves, it was basically what was written on the tin. Short, stocky, great at smithing but with one hell of a temper. Gnomes were a margin smaller than dwarves, averaging between three and a half feet to four feet tall.

Following that, my eyes fell on an alien race called the draenei. A seemingly immortal race of space goats. Really, Death? Digressing from Persephone's humor, I discovered they originally came from a planet called Argus but were forced to flee because of a demonic army called the Burning Legion. They were very tall (eight to thirteen feet tall) with soft blue, ice blue or indigo skin. They came equipped with often curling horns, prehensile neck tendril and likeminded tails. They usually wore no shoes due to made home on Draenor, but fought with beings called orcs. Orcs were vaguely human, but larger, meaner and greener. Most of the time. They all had short jutting tusks and slightly tapered ears.

There were vast amounts of trolls tribes. Sand, Amani, Darkspear, Zandalari. So were there Ice trolls, forest and dire trolls. Regionally, they were all diverse. But they all shared the same general physique: tall, lanky, long jutting tusks and the fact they only had four fingers and two toes per foot. Again, sizes varied from tribe to tribe.

While there were many other sentient races I could look at, I chose instead to gloss over. Mostly because they were more bestial races like the Tauren and Worgen. And that would make blending in with locals a bit more difficult than necessary. Especially if I planned on dealing with racial animosity. No doubt I would have to choose wisely. Or did I?

My lips turned down into a frown. Looking over to where Death stood idly, I called out, "Would it be possible to I don't know, combine a few of these models? I like the look of these 'San'layn' elves and their vampiric abilities, I don't particularly care for the long ears. I feel like that'll be a weakness. The same goes for the wings. Humans are boring, but maybe use human DNA to dilute the elven blood?"

A dark chuckle left the host of all that is dead. "You're quite the intelligent young lady. None of my other champions I've sent to other realms ever thought of mix and matching species like that. Ahaha, I like you. But the answer is most certainly yes. I believe you'll look like a half elf. Mostly human, but with slightly tapered ears no longer than a few inches longer than human ears. Vampire fangs of course, cannot be hidden. I suggest you learn to smile without showing your teeth. Let's see..." It paused and hummed. "Oh yes. I would to like to mention something about your new body, if I may."

"Go on," I replied curtly.

Death nodded and continued, "Like I mentioned earlier, while a lich, an undead, still has a living body, put bluntly. A body functioning as a living being's would through magical means and maintained in this state regardless of the injury it takes through high level restoration magic with a mix of necromancy to keep it, for all intents and purposes, alive. This enables the lich's body to perform as a living body while simply being considered a lich due to the fact that her soul is contained within an external phylactery still linked to her body serving as a living meat puppet for her connected consciousness from where it rests.

"This meaning you are virtually immortal. As such natural aging, harmful toxins, and diseases will not affect you, that is to say destroy the body, disrupt its functions, or alter your appearance quickly enough to be noticeable thanks to her necromantic regeneration. Any alterations/injuries aside from these such as the removal of a limb will simply heal or regenerate to the body's original state* within varying lengths of time based on the degree of the injury. This does include organ and entrails should they be stretched, bruised, and/or otherwise 'injured' during intercourse.

"Your body's original state is referring to the body as it was made to be following the genesis and restoration ritual. A 'default' that it automatically attempts to restore itself back to upon obtaining/suffering most abnormalities. E.g. stretching, decaying.

"This all means that beyond the abnormalities, the body you will soon inhabit 'works.' Your womb as such can still become flooded so that the lich may become pregnant, it can process and derive energy from food and drink, potions, sleep, et cetera, and it still produces both a natural heat and liquids (saliva, juices) created by these processes as a normal humanoid body would. The exceptions to this norm being her regeneration and immortality, of course, as well as her lack of typical waste expulsion as her body efficiently and effectively uses every little crumb or drop of what she ingests before allowing the exceptionally finite leftovers to seep from her through sweat or otherwise magical means.

"That aside, the fact the body I am going to construct you is unique. The liches that blight Azeroth normally shed their mortal coil and become an animated skeletal sorcerers. They do this to become immune to feeling pain and erasing emotions in pursuit of knowledge. And it's another reason why I made your body the way I did. I do not want you to forget who you are. So you will still feel pain, emotions and what not. But in turn, holy magic, fire and most things normally used to dispatch undead become halved. Perhaps an immunity someday. I do not know. You are the first of my champions to undertake such a thing. Did you catch all of that?"

Slowly, I blinked. Then a nod followed. "Yes. Just...a lot of odd information to parse. So basically, I'm a lich...which is similar into the manner Voldemort made horcruxes. But I don't have to murder to store my soul in a vessel?"

"Correct. On Azeroth and her sister planets in this dimension, there is no need to commit evil acts to remove one's soul from thy mortal coil. All one simply do, is a slightly complicated ritual to transport your soul into an object of your choosing. The ones in this realm tend to choose urns since they're rather symbolic. Foolish if you ask me. Yours will be the Resurrection Stone. The Hallows themselves are technically merged with your very essence." She pauses. "And of course, Laelette Evans-Potter won't be a suitable name. You won't blend in one bit."

My brows furrowed. "Why not?"

Persephone scoffed, "Because first off, the humans in Azeroth have never heard of Britain. Two, you chose a half elven form and three, it's a dumb name."

"Ouch," I winced at the open faces insult. "My mother gave me this name."

She rolled her eyes at me. "She should have chosen a cuter name. Anyways, since you're a quarter human fifty percent Quel'dorei and a quarter of mixed race not limited to draenei, worgen, , and dragon, you need a name befitting your heritage." My eye twitched. Why the fuck did she have to add so many other races to the body I would soon wear? I didn't have a chance to protest when Lady Death continued, "Let's see now. The Quel'dorei and the Sin'dorei often choose first names as they desire while family names are often attributed to by now such as the Windrunner family and the Sunstriders. You are already familiar with human naming conventions, so we'll just get down to it. How about Janna Quickwind?"

"Pass." It didn't feel right. It also sounded like someone making a fart. I know, I'm a bastion of maturity. I blame Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy.

"Priscilla Haeldurn?"

My head shook negative. "Pass."

"Luna Moonsaber?"

"Nope."

"Euredice of Tel Mithryn?"

"Sorry, try again," I responded with a hint or smartassery.

Death shrugged. "Fair enough. Why not Tionishia Sunstrider? Maybe some elven recognition would put some credit in your name."

"Hard pass. Fame and celebrity status is not my game. I had enough of it as a human. You could not pay me any amount of gold to do that again," I drawled.

"Picky, aren't you. What about Josie and the Pussycats?"

Staring at Lady Death, I asked, "Are you even trying anymore?"

Giggling, the aspect of death was actually giggling at me. "Just checking to make sure you're paying attention. Fine fine, I'll try harder." She tapped at her chin while I looked out the window. "Ooh, how about this: Wren Blackbriar?"

Peering back to Lady Death, I contemplated and said the name a few times in my head. Then aloud, I spoke, "Acceptable."

"Excellent. Now that's out of the way, I should get to constructing your new host body. Necromancy won't do itself," she chuckled.

"You mentioned something about being your champion," I started.

Persephone grinned, "I did. The last World Guardian Medivh became corrupted when the fel took hold of him. Despite Khadgar's attempt to stop him, there was no possible way it could have ended but without a murder. Khadgar is supposed to be the current guardian, but he never officially took the mantle. So it's up to you. Now, it will take a decade before your body will be fully grown, so even if I told you the current events, it would be outdated information. When you wake up, you in your new form shall be Azeroth's new World Guardian."

With a snort, I scoffed, "Oh yes, because I imagine the general populace will be ecstatic to learn their savior is a lich and a necromancer. What joy I'm looking forward to."

Death's eyeless sockets stared at me. I'm sure they would have rolled at me for my liberal use of sarcasm. But I wasn't sorry. Death rattled off a cough and said, "And finally, I have assigned three tasks unto you. You will not know what they are straight away. Each will have a timeframe designated on the manner of communication I deem appropriate." Death paused and smiled as much as a skeletal face could, "Until then...sweet dreams..."

* * *

 **A/N: And so the plot thickens...**


	3. Reincarnation by Resurrection

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who started following and left reviews. It's nice to see people who appreciate my work.**

* * *

 **Chapter II:** **Reincarnation by Resurrection**

Upon waking, I found myself in a luxurious suite of sorts. So much for an austere start in this world. My eyes spied flowers which filled the room in a soft fragrance while silk surrounded me in a sweet embrace. The bed was similar to what I had slept in during my educational years in Hogwarts if not a bit larger in scale; a four poster bed with a canopy above. It could easily fit four grown elves. I almost felt small in it.

Stiffness on an ungodly level permeated my body. It was a mild annoyance, but little movement was all the control I had over right now. Certainly, I had no control over the breeze which was freezing, or perhaps it was me. My body stiff, my cognitive functions nebulous. My heart wasn't beating...

Panic enveloped. My heart wasn't beating?! H-how could that be? I clutched at my chest clumsily, vainly attempting to react in some fashion to this revelation when I finally felt it. A low, very faint, extremely faint thump in my chest. Only a half a dozen beats in a minute, but I felt not pain. I felt nothing at all. Just coldness. Straining to hear the normal thud issuing from my torso, I discovered that the shot of adrenaline had faded, along with my heartbeat. It slowed and then ceased altogether. Silence reigned as I sat there, listening. After a decent stretch of time, there was another faint thump. Innocuous, it was so faint and nigh nonexistent. What was going on? My unblinking eyes peered at the uninteresting stone ceiling whilst I battled with my leadened body. So far I managed to scowl and doing that was a little painful.

Shallow breaths passed between dusky lips as a frigid air pervaded my entire being. But I wasn't breathing. My chest did not move up and down; but I could tell that I was not being asphyxiated by hand nor gaseous plague. It was all surreal.

I tried to remember what the last thing I'd done, but nothing came to me. The majority of my mind was clouded like a valley covered in the haze of a dense fog. After a few minutes, it hazily came back to me at the most agonizing pace ever. The deal I made with Lady Death. That I was to become her champion. That and becoming the new World Guardian of Azeroth. A low sigh escapes my lips as I grumble. Chosen one on one world and babysitter of another. Why can't I ever just get a break?

It took the better part of quarter of an hour before I was able to convince my body to cooperate well enough to pull myself into an upright position.

There was a small stack of books sitting on the bedside table. The titles were including but not limited to: Death's Guide Necromancy, Dummies Guide to Elven Etiquette, Azerothian Runes, and a few others that lacked actual titles. A sticky note mentioned that there were thousands more books a few flights down in the Great Library of Karazhan

There was a sticky note (really?) sticking out of one of the tomes I assumed was required reading. With a sigh, I flipped open to that page. Nestled in the margins was a shrunken letter. With even another sigh, I wandlessly enlarged the letter and began to read.

 _Dear Wren Blackbriar,_

 _I may have forgotten to mention a few things when I was making arrangements for your true life in Azeroth. So, you are stuck in Karazhan (that's the name of the citadel which you are now the proud owner of). What I mean by that is event you are forbidden to interfere in are still unraveling around you. You will be restricted to Deadwind Pass, Duskshire and the Redridge Mountains. I will know if you try to travel abroad. So instead of any sight seeing, you should just stay here and study. Oh yes, I have a more precise list of your racial makeup._

 _You're body is made up of:_

 _Quel'dorei 12%_

 _Human 35%_

 _Kaldorei 13%_

 _Draenei 4%_

 _Black dragon 20%_

 _Ren'dorei 10%_

 _Forest Troll 6%_

 _Accordingly, your animagus form has changed because of the innate magic and creatures of Azeroth are different than Terra. For example, a basilisk on your homeworld is a giant snake while a basilisk on Azeroth is a six legged lizard. Honestly I could list them all, but I'd rather let you learn for yourself. As for your animagus, I have no idea what it could be. You'll just have to figure it out on your own._

 _I think that's everything I wanted to inform you of, but I could he forgetting something. Until the next time, do try to stay alive._

 _Love, Death_

 _PS, I'm not apologizing._

I facepalmed. Hard.

When I removed my hand from my face, I winced a little. Death wasn't kidding. I could most certainly feel pain and I was a LOT stronger than I had been as an immortal human. While I wasn't a master with restoration and healing magics, it was enough to make the small welt and bruise disappear. "This is going to be a long internment...I hope there's no Hitler or Voldemort equivalent in Azeroth."

Regardless of my hopes, I clambered out of bed and headed over to the fluttering drapes on the far side of the room. When pulled aside, it revealed an access to a balcony. Slowly, I stepped through only to freeze at the sight of mountains piercing through the clouds and a forest that spanned further than any I had ever seen in my life. In fact, it was a vision so breathtaking, so foreign to my old, urban life. Yet, it was unnervingly familiar.

Peering a little closer to home, I discovered that the surround area was devoid of vegetation and life. And from what I could see, the Spire of Karazhan was ancient and dilapidated. At least from the field of view. It was a little disheartening to see that this place was in such a state of disrepair. It would take a lot of work to return my home to its former glory. Well, I assume it was once magnificent. If not, I'll do something so it doesn't look like rubbish.

"While I may not be privy to whatever you were griping about, it is still excellent to see you up, my lady," a throaty voice addressed me.

Breaking out of reverie, I turned around to see a man at my feet, bowing so low he was nearly prostrated. His face was shrouded by the brittle mop of graying hair on his head. My brows furrowed as I asked, "And who are you?"

"I am Moroes, your ladyship, keeper of this tower. And we are ever so thrilled to have you with us," came his enthusiastic reply, lifting his head to reveal a pale, decomposing face. "We shall host a feast unlike any other that has graced these halls."

If only a little bit, I gave a small start. Even for an undead, this Moroes needed to take better care of himself. But that scolding would come later. Instead, I scowled. "A feast? I wake up and the first thing you can think of is to hold a feast? You ought to be ashamed of yourself!"

Confusion riddled his face, unused muscles strained to make such an expression. "My lady, I do not understand."

"Karazhan is a right mess!" I thundered, a little pleased when he shrank back a bit at my displeasure. My ability to use magic from Terra had not left me when I arrived and legilimency was more than a blessing. "Both Archmage Aegwynn and Medivh would be appalled to see the condition of this place. How could you marr their memories by letting Karazhan fall to ruin? No feast shall be had until the great tower of Aegwynn has been cleansed and repaired; the marble floors like mirrors and tarnished metals shine! Be off with you, worm!"

"Y-yes mistress," whimpered the keeper. I felt a little turned on from the little display. On Earth, I rarely got to show such authority without severe backlash. But now I've arrived in a brand new world and in an important position to boot, I had more free reign. Responsibilities yes, but nothing I haven't dealt with. During my monologue, the butler was still there.

"Why have you not left to complete my orders?"

Submissively, the undead man replied, "Apologies, my lady. But I have to ask what budget we are to work with. I dare not take more from the coffers than permitted."

With a roll of the eyes I replied, "Money is no whatever is needed to fix everything and anything to restore the spire to glory. That however does not mean you will take the highest price. I expect you and the others to haggle for the best value. Now be off you you, wretch!"

"Yes, my lady."

Once Moroes had left to attend to the tasks I assigned him, I conjured a large full body mirror before me. I needed to see what I looked like, to see how much I differed from my other body. I banished whatever night clothes I'd been wearing, leaving me stark naked.

The first thing I noticed, was that I am incredibly pale and entirely without tanlines. My skin was like an iced peach with a hint of silvery grey pigment, entirely fixing my scar riddled complexion. It's really hard to explain the sort of effect it has. I'm pale, that's sufficient. Right? Moving on!

Following that initial discovery, there was also the fact that this body appeared incredibly healthy. Like it hadn't been subjected to eleven years of abuse and neglect. Unfortunately it hadn't done much about my height other than a few inches for a grand total of five and a half feet.

My eyes had once been a bright killing curse green, now morphed to a deep royal purple with tints of arcane lavender in those irises. The last remnant of my mother...gone. I would get that bitch for tearing my only reminder of who my mother was away from me! Taking a deep breath, I knew I needed to remain calm. Thus, I continued.

When I was human, my lips had been kind of an embarrassment with how flat and uninteresting they'd been. But now, they had filled out and were delicate with no source of dryness or ruptures to be found anywhere. They'd plumped up a little and someone (Death I surmised) had painted them blacker than tar. Two ivory fangs jutted down over my lower lip.

Through the usage of the mirror I glanced at my nose and noticed how petite, and straight it was compared to the big English nose that I'd broken and injured so many times as a human witch. It was perfectly centered on my face and aligned with no awkward bends or arches that hindered my looks.

I found that my diamond landing strip had turned white as fresh driven snow. The feminine lips had darkened to a burned azure blue with a tint of grey. Since the transdimensional reallocation, my hips widened a bit and breasts jumped up two-three sizes!

My lips turned down into a frown at the uneven tuft crowning my womanhood. No, I wasn't ever going to let it go overgrown. Ever! Taking a few minutes, I quickly shaved the white pubic hair into the shape of a necromantic rune from my world. Wandless magic was truly a talent I was glad to have.

At the end of my self inspectection of the new body I had procured from Lady Death, I summarily resigned that it was _**Her**_ who made it so my attractiveness oozed sex appeal. Well, kind of. Or maybe just because I'm gay and I haven't adjusted to this body being mine yet. Shut up. We're not talking about this anymore.

* * *

Since this was to be my new home for the next several years and probably the following few centuries or however long Persephone would ordain me to exist, I ought to at least unpack. To be honest, I had almost forgotten about an entire manor's worth of belongings.

The piercings that I'd turned into a dimensional pocket for the trunks were no longer in my body, but on the bedside table. They were placed on a coaster so they wouldn't simply roll away.

In my most commanding voice, I intoned, "Dobby." It wasn't a shout or even a raised utterance. Just a firm, spoken word.

A loud crack signaled the arrival of the house elf. When he appeared, he was wearing what appeared to be a miniature WWII outfit. I just stared at him until he asked in his squeaky voice, "What does the greatest witch Laelette Evans desire of me?"

"First of all, I go by Wren Blackbriar now," I began. "Next, I would like you to fetch me a self inking quill and some parchment." He was gone for a split of a second and had already retrieved the writing implement. I scrawled some instructions down and said, "I'd like these done by the end of the day. After dinner, I'll make up a few lists. I imagine that there are all sorts of servants here that need orders. Since you're an old friend, you're in charge of the others for now.

With a firm salute, my house elf replied, "At once, Mistress!"

Once he was gone, I slumped down on the bed. I'd been getting so used to the new home that I had totally been forgetting about the resources I had brought with me from Earth. I felt incredibly stupid when that epiphany had decided to drop at breakfast to hours ago.

Soon enough, my bedroom was decorated in my effects from the now forlorn Potter Manor. The biggest of the luggage that was the same exact model as Alastor Moody's seven compartment trunk was at the foot of the queen sized bed. Cherry bookcases had been set up at the bare walls where it was devoid of the wall sconces. Textbooks I had from Hogwarts which truth to be told I truly treasured were in the bookcase closest to the left side of the bed. What space was left there was filled with required reading Death left for me. The forbidden books my colleagues had been researching were there as well. I hadn't a chance to look at them before my realm hop. The other relevant books filled the other bookcases. The others that held a sentimental value but not as much as the others or just not information I needed at the moment could be taken down to the Great Library.

The moth-eaten curtains were replaced with dark green ones enchanted to open and close themselves at dawn and dusk. The only exception to that would be extremely windy and otherwise terrible weather. Having been a Slytherin in the Lion's den, I decided to add the same green standards to the upper walls.

In the corner of the room, there was a drawing table and as well as a large desk. It is there I displayed a replica of the Philosopher's stone in a small transparent lockbox. A similar case but a long rectangle one was on the wall above the desk to remind me of what it was that made me who I am. Horcruxes-well, replicas of the ones I'd destroyed to make Voldemort mortal again. The Sword of Gryffindor was reclaimed by the goblins of Terra but I really didn't mind. I'm not much of a swordswoman anyways. I still didn't know what to do with the massive skeleton of the basilisk I'd slain in my second year of Hogwarts so I had it suspended in the foyer for now.

So the decor here was done after a week of agonizing indecision. The once bare chambers now appeared more cozy and lived in. Comfortable enough to begin seeing it as my actual home. Whelp, time to get back to studying.

* * *

Before the first month was over, I quickly learned there was a major difference between the magic of the home world where I was born (Terra, Earth, Milky Way Galaxy, etc) and that of Azeroth.

In my original home, our magic was born of the blood and the soul which meant our source of magic was built in like a core or a magical reactor. Think of a nuclear power plant, but the major lack of radiation and mutagenic side effects. Witches, wizards and a few sentient creatures are all born one with the rare exception of being a squib. The non intelligent magical creatures don't have a core per se, but rather siphon ambient magical signatures

Azerothian magic however, comes from the planet itself. Everything is saturated in magic. The plants, the soil, the stone and even the air. The beings born to the realm are a bit different. In order to learn and cast magic, one must have the capacity to do so. It is not a gene, but a way of thinking. That and some of it is just Fate randomly choosing who gets to wield magic and those who don't.

That aside, I had read that the 'magical beings' on Azeroth don't have a core in which to siphon mana/magicka or whatever the fuck you want to call it. The magic user's body has a set limit of how much magic their body can handle. As time passes and they keep practicing, that set amount will rise. Just like Isaac Newton's Law of Motion, magic will stagnate if neglected.

In my particular case, I still have a magical core in my soul, allowing me to continue using Terran magicks. But also because I have the ability to safely utilize magic, I'm able to learn Azerothian spells and magic.

Another thing I discovered is the scale and finesse of how each world's magic differs. On Terra, magic had been approached to a point where it was a lot of technicalities, formulae and precision. But it lacked the power that Azerothian mages harnessed. Both types had pros and cons and I felt it would be appropriate to fill my arsenal with a mixture of both. Maybe even weave them together.

After many months of study, I believed I was ready to perform my first true test of necromancy. It was one thing to raise little rabbits that had regained most of its functions to immortal wolves that really wouldn't die unless one blasted it with enough fire to turn it to ashes. Not my best of performances. But that was all behind me now. Today, I was ready to take on the biggest feat any necromancer would ever dream of doing: resurrecting a dragon!

The hard part, was acquiring the bones of a fallen wyrm. While not on the best of terms with Attumen the Huntsman, I had commissioned him to retrieve the intact skeleton of any type of dragon. It had taken him a good year and a half to procure it and more than once I had been under the assumption he had gone rogue. But in the end, he had grudgingly fulfilled his duty. The corpse he had procured had apparently once been a majestic blue dragon.

In the time I had waited, I'd continued experimenting on lesser creatures. And when I finally had everything I needed for the task at hand, I merely only needed to wait for a full moon when magic was at its peak. The remains had been stored with a stasis charm to prevent any further degradation and placed on the terrace.

When the day came to be, I began by drawing a magic rune cluster in the center of Karazhan's ley lines which so happened to be the courtyard. Imagine that.

I went through the mental checklist: complex magic circle painted from ground spider exoskeleton, check. Ectoplasm infused candles stationed at key points in the cardinal directions, check. Sacrifice of blood and flesh, check. It all seemed to be in order and all that seemed left was to actually invoke the ritual. Taking a deep breath, I then exhaled. Finally, came the incantation:

 _ **Tempus pater, mater mors. Ignis spiritus redeat puerum regni. Ex sorore umbra, coge pecus. Renovare, renovare, quo respirare in novam vitam esse.**_

The horrendously dedicated pile of bones and leftover sinew gave a great shudder. An unholy creaking echoed throughout the courtyard. The source was the ossified remains that I had summoned which was now pulling itself upright and rearranging its bones. As that happened muscle, skin and scales seemed to knit across the creature's body. It seemed to be an incredibly slow process, but maybe that was simply because dragons were resistant to magic.

Finally, the necromantic ritual had abated in successful completion. Now stood a massive blue dragon whose scales shined like the azure skies. While the ritual seemed like it had more brought the dragon entirely back to life, that was not the case. There were still significant physical flaws that quite assuredly spoke of necromancy. Such as the tattered wings where there was missing bits from the edges and every few feet. Then there was the scar that had been a fatal strike; it was located between the joint where it's wing joint protruded from and the dead center of the chest.

"Where...am I?" came a powerful voice coming from the newly resurrected dragon. It's voice was powerful but still distinctly feminine. It-she looked around, still looking just as confused as I was. Dragons here seemed to be able to talk which was news to me.

"Somewhere safe," I said mysteriously as I leaned against Atiesh, Staff of the Guardian. Worn out as I was, I felt it would be appropriate to mask my astonishment on learning The sentience of dragons of Azeroth. "The conundrum is, who are you?"

"I am...Sindragosa, former consort to Dragon Aspect of Magic, Malygos. And who are you?" came her suspicious inquiry. I could hardly blame her for being aloof since she 'woke' up in some new place you've never seen before.

With a polite bow, I said as I removed my hood, "Pleasure to meet you. My name," I paused, nearly having almost said the wrong name which would have been an automatic response and corrected myself, "is Wren Blackbriar. And you are in the courtyard of the Great Tower of Karazhan."

If dragons had eyebrows, I most certainly believe this specimen's brows would be furrowed. "That...cannot be right. I perished on the terrace of Icecrown Citadel. I should not be able to be brought back after a second death." It seemed that panic was beginning to creep into the edges of her voice.

"Ah, that would be my doing," I said, catching the dragon's attention once more. "I was experimenting with different combinations of necromancy and seeing what I could possibly accomplish. To be entirely honest, I was skeptical on whether I might succeed."

Suddenly, the dragon's form vanished in a matter of seconds. Where there had been a ten ton blue scale fire breathing reptilian demolisher, a seven foot woman existed there instead. Her silver snow hued hair grown down to her hips and tinted indigo at the tips. She had quite a svelte figure, but not unhealthily so. The eyes were like sapphires under the azure sky. But what made her stand out was the pair of draconic horns that grew from her temples. My brain quickly identified this as Sindragosa in the guise of a High Elf.

My brow lofted high as I peered at the elven woman and hummed, "Well then. I was not aware that dragons in Azeroth had the ability to shapeshift. That's a neat little tidbit to file away later."

A small frown marred Sindragosa's mouth as she said, "You speak as though you were an outsider looking in from beyond the veil of Time. Perhaps, you are a realmwalker?"

"In a manner of speaking yes," I deflected without any acidity. "Since we have only met, I can't trust you all that much. For all I know, you might try to eat me for the sheer insult of bringing you back to pseudo-life. Technically undead, but very hard to tell the difference."

Chortling softly, I wagged a finger chidingly, "Ah, ah, no can't do. Trade secrets and all. You could attempt to pick my brain about other topics though. I'm sure we have something in common."

"Though as interesting as that would be, I have a rather blunt inquiry into what is to become my fate. As the necromancer who raised me, I believe I'd like to inquire as to what would you ask of me?"

A soft hum exited my mouth as I answered, "Well, that's up to you. You've been away from the world in general as have I. We're both in need of catching up on current events. If you like, you could join me in the library. Or if you feel like stretching your wings, I won't keep you here. You're free to go wherever you want. All I ask is that you don't cause too much trouble for my servants. Other than that, you're free-"

In a rather abrupt manner, I had been silenced by a pair of blue painted lips. My eyes widened as I felt Sindragosa's engage a liplock with me. Slowly, and hesitantly, I briefly returned the gesture instead of leaving her spurned. Quietly, I asked once the kiss had ended, "Why? Why would you kiss me? We barely have spent more than a fleeting memory together, much less so much as fifteen minutes of being acquaintances."

"You have done so much for me in a single performance of magic," came her reply. The taller woman rested her hands on my womanly hips and continued. "There is no afterlife for the undead. I was essentially nothing more than my bones without coherent thought yet existing all the same. You raised me from undeath, a feat in which I thought an impossibility. Yet you did so, but you also restored to me my flesh and blood. With such a restoration, this high elf form is once again available to me. It's faint, but I can even feel my heart beating within my chest. There's really only one choice for me to make and that is to...what do humans call it? Blast it's been awhile... Oh yes, I shall marry you and be your loyal lifemate."

I stood there, stunned by the dragoness' words. Finally, my lips formed the words and asked, "You wish to stay with me? But why? What motives would you have to stay here, let alone with me? I'm hardly an attractive specimen of a half elf."

She gave me a genuine smile as she explained her reasoning, "Well for starters, you didn't bind me to your will like most necromancers are want to do. You allowed my freedom, my free will and the chance to start over. I figure stuff will get interesting if I stay with you. So, what do you say, Wren?"

"I suppose some company wouldn't hurt," I mumbled, curling a raven lock of hair behind my ear.

"Great. Glad we've come to an agreement that I may stay here. Oh, would you happen to have any clothes for me to wear? I think I may be causing your servants to become quite distracted," Sindragosa told me in the most nonchalant manner possible.

The implications of that seemingly innocent sentence finally registered in my cranium and I immediately began to blush. I had been looking at her nude form for over five minutes and her attractive visage had just set in. Cursing under my breath, I conjured a set of plain robes for my apparently new 'wife' to wear. "Those won't last longer than a few hours at best. I'll try to find something in my wardrobe that might fit. Now if you don't mind, I need to take a very cold shower."

A lascivious grin spread on the other woman's face as she luridly purrs, "Can I join?"

My only response to that was to disapparate to the master bedroom with clear intent to barricade myself in the bathroom until I could control my urges. I had briefly seen the disappointment on the humanoid dragoness' face, but I really couldn't deal with the temptation she brought!

* * *

It turned out that the world I was reborn into and I use that term loosely, has both rich and a terrible history. After the first few rounds of research, I began to piece together an abridged compendium of the history of this realm. Here is what I have so far.

For ages, the fallen titan Sargeras plotted to scour all life from Azeroth. To this end, Sargeras possessed the human sorcerer Medivh and compelled him to contact Gul'dan, an orc warlock on the world of Draenor. There, Sargeras' demonic servants among the Burning Legion worked to corrupt the once - peaceful orcs and forge them into a bloodthirsty army known as the Horde. This cursed force invaded Azeroth through the Dark Portal, a dimensional gateway created by Medivh and Gul'dan, and clashed with the human nation of Stormwind. Aided by the half-orc Garona, human champions like Anduin Lothar fought valiantly to protect their kingdom. Yet, in the end, the mighty Horde shattered Stormwind's defenses. Amid the city's tragic fall, Garona betrayed her allies and assassinated King Llane Wrynn, sealing the nation's defeat.

The human nation of Stormwind had fallen before the Horde. Knight Champion Anduin Lothar gathered the scattered remnants of the human army and led the refugees north across the Great Sea to the kingdom of Lordaeron. By enlisting the aid of other nations - humans, gnomes, elves, and dwarves - Lothar helped form a great Alliance to stand against the orcs and their ruthless new leader, Orgrim Doomhammer. The seemingly unstoppable Horde continued its rampage, reinforcing its growing army with savage trolls and brutish ogres. But, on the eve of victory, Gul'dan and his followers selfishly abandoned their allies to seek out powerful artifacts, forcing the weakened Horde to retreat. Doomhammer momentarily rallied the orcs when he slew Lothar in a harrowing battle, but the hero's death did not break the Alliance's resolve. Turalyon, Lothar's loyal lieutenant, quickly took up leadership of Azeroth's defenders and finally defeated the Horde.

Following the destruction of Azeroth's Dark Portal by the victorious Alliance, the orc shaman Ner'zhul took command of the remaining Horde on Draenor. There, he plotted to create portals to other unspoiled worlds and invade each in turn. To enable the rituals for his dimensional conquest, Ner'zhul sent orcish forces through his world's intact Dark Portal in search of powerful relics on Azeroth. Wary of the Horde's plans, the heroes of the Alliance invaded Draenor to end the orcish threat forever. Facing certain defeat at the hands of his enemies, Ner'zhul succeeded in opening numerous portals to new worlds. The resulting magical stress shattered Draenor, trapping many of Azeroth's greatest heroes on Outland, the damaged remains of the planet.

After years of languishing in captivity, the remaining orcs on Azeroth were liberated by a former slave named Thrall. This young shaman and his reformed Horde fled to the continent of Kalimdor to escape the invasion of the Burning Legion, a demonic army that sought to ravage all of Azeroth. To weaken the world's defenses, the Legion unleashed a horrifying new weapon: the undead Scourge. Prince Arthas Menethil of Lordaeron fought bravely to protect his lands from this dreaded enemy, but his fear and desperation led him to join forces with the Scourge's mysterious leader, the Lich King. On Kalimdor, Thrall's Horde set aside old hatreds and united with other races to thwart a massive Legion assault helmed by the demon lord Archimonde. At great cost, the unlikely union of humans, night elves and orcs defeated their enemies atop sacred Mount Hyjal.

While the armies of humans, orcs, and their allies recovered from their battle against the Burning Legion, Arthas Menethil - now a Death Knight - slaughtered the living denizens of Azeroth's Eastern Kingdoms in the name of the Scourge. But new forces emerged that threatened to destroy Arthas and his minions: the banshee Sylvanas Windrunner rebelled, creating a splinter faction of undead known as the Forsaken, and the demon-tainted night elf Illidan Stormrage sent his armies to the icy continent of Northrend to strike at the Lich King. Arthas rushed to his master's defense and defeated Illidan, who fled to Outland in shame. At last close to the seat of the Scourge's power, Arthas did the unthinkable, and willingly merged his own spirit with that of the Lich King.

Intent on settling the arid region of Durotar, Thrall's new Horde expanded its ranks, inviting the undead Forsaken to join orcs, tauren, and trolls. Meanwhile, dwarves, gnomes and the ancient night elves pledged their loyalties to a reinvigorated Alliance, guided by the human kingdom of Stormwind. After Stormwind's king, Varian Wrynn, mysteriously disappeared, Highlord Bolvar Fordragon served as Regent but his service was marred by the manipulations and mind control of the black dragon Onyxia, who ruled in disguise as a human noblewoman. As heroes investigated Onyxia's manipulations, ancient foes surfaced in lands throughout the world to menace Horde and Alliance alike.

Deep within the fiery heart of Blackrock Mountain, the black dragon Nefarian conducted twisted experiments with the blood of other dragonflights. Intent on seizing the entire region for his own, he marshaled the remaining Dark Horde, a rogue army that embraced the demonic bloodlust of the old Horde. These corrupt orcs, trolls and other races battled against the Firelord Ragnaros and the shadowy Dark Iron dwarves for control of the smoldering mountain. Before he was vanquished by fearless heroes, Nefarian created the twisted chromatic dragons and a legion of other aberrations in his bid to form an army powerful enough to control Azeroth and continue the legacy of his infamous father, Deathwing the Destroyer.

Years ago, in the ruined temple of Atal'Hakkar, loyal priests of the Blood God Hakkar the Soulflayer attempted to summon the wrathful deity's avatar into the world. But his followers, the Atal'ai priesthood, discovered that the Soulflayer could only be summoned within the Gurubashi tribe's ancient capital, Zul'Gurub. Newly reborn in this jungle fortress, Hakkar took control of the Gurubashi tribe and mortal champions of the trolls' mighty animal gods. The Soulflayer's dark influence was barely halted when the wise Zandalari tribe recruited heroes from the Horde and the Alliance and staged an invasion of Zul'Gurub.

The great desert fortress of Ahn'Qiraj, long sealed behind the Scarab Wall, was home to the insectoid qiraji, a savage race that had once mounted an assault to devastate the continent of Kalimdor. But something far more sinister lurked behind Ahn'Qiraj's walls: the Old God C'Thun, an ancient entity whose pervasive evil had suffused Azeroth since time immemorial. As C'Thun incited the qiraji to frenzy, both the Alliance and Horde prepared for a massive war effort. A mixed force of Alliance and Horde soldiers, dubbed the Might of Kalimdor, opened the gates of Ahn'Qiraj under the command of the indomitable orc Varok Saurfang. Their charge: lay siege to the ruins and temples of Ahn'Qiraj, and vanquish the terrors of ages past.

In the Lich King's haste to spread the plague of undeath over Azeroth, he gifted one of his greatest servants, the lich Kel'Thuzad, with the flying citadel of Naxxramas, a horrific base of operations for the Scourge. Consistent attacks from the Scarlet Crusade and Argent Dawn factions weakened the defenses of the floating fortress, enabling an incursion that led to Kel'Thuzad's defeat. However, a traitor among the ranks of the knightly order of the Argent Dawn absconded with Kel'Thuzad's cursed remains and fled to Northrend, where the fallen lich could be reanimated.

The Doom Lord Kazzak reopened the Dark Portal to Outland, flooding Azeroth with the ravenous demons of the Burning Legion. Expeditions from the Horde and Alliance, reinforced by their new blood elf and draenei allies, passed through the gateway to stop the invasion at its source. On Outland's desiccated Hellfire Peninsula, the Alliance discovered several of their heroes who had crossed through the portal many years before, while the Horde made contact with the Mag'har - 'uncorrupted' orcs who had not participated in their race's original invasion of Azeroth. The expedition into Outland dragged Horde and Alliance armies further into conflict with the agents of the Legion and the lieutenants of Illidan Stormrage, who had claimed the shattered realm for his own.

In his quest to reign over all of Outland, Illidan the Betrayer had established a mighty stronghold for his forces within the Black Temple, a former draenei citadel. Yet his influence began to wane after the defeat of his most trusted lieutenants, including the traitorous former leader of the blood elves, Kael'thas Sunstrider. The resulting window of opportunity permitted Akama, an elder sage of devolved draenei known as the Broken, to rebel against the self-styled "Lord of Outland." Along with Illidan's former jailor, the stoic night elf Maiev Shadowsong, Akama helped a group of heroes infiltrate Illidan's seat of power and put an end to the Betrayer's reign once and for all.

Following years of battles alongside the old Horde, the troll warlord Zul'jin retired to the city of Zul'Aman, capital of the Amani trolls, where he called upon mysterious dark powers to rebuild his army. While the eyes of Azeroth focused on the fight against the Burning Legion and the expedition to Outland, treasure-seekers invaded Zul'Aman, rekindling Zul'jin's hatred of the outside world - particularly the high elves of Quel'Thalas. Upon hearing that these newly christened "blood elves" had become part of the Horde in his absence, the infuriated Zul'jin declared war on both Horde and Alliance.

Fresh from his defeat in Outland, Kael'thas Sunstrider returned to the blood elf city of Silvermoon. Rather than lead his people to glory as he had promised, the disgraced prince betrayed them. Kael'thas plotted to use the legendary Sunwell, source of the blood elves' magical power, to summon the demon lord Kil'jaeden into Azeroth. Aided by a joint task force of blood elves and draenei, the Shattered Sun Offensive, Horde and Alliance heroes narrowly stopped both Kael'thas and Kil'jaeden, purifying the Sunwell with the help of the draenei prophet Velen.

In the wake of the Sunwell's purification, a period of suspicious quiet had swept over the world. As if on cue, the undead Scourge launched a massive assault against the cities and towns of Azeroth, this time extending its reach far beyond the Eastern Kingdoms. Under pressure to respond with a full army, Warchief Thrall deployed an expedition force to Northrend led by Overlord Garrosh Hellscream. Meanwhile, the missing human king Varian Wrynn at last returned to Stormwind City and reclaimed his crown. He sent an equally powerful Alliance army, commanded by Bolvar Fordragon, to defeat the Lich King—and any Horde forces who would stand in their way.

The march of Horde and Alliance armies through Northrend led to a number of victories, but these successes paled before a discovery made by the explorer Brann Bronzebeard within the ancient titan complex of Ulduar. This mysterious fortress had long served as the prison of the Old God Yogg-Saron, a being of unfathomable evil whose influence had spread into the continent of Northrend itself. With Brann's assistance, small bands of Alliance and Horde champions infiltrated Ulduar to confront Yogg-Saron, who blasted the invaders with cryptic visions: the millennia-old creation of an artifact known as the Dragon Soul, the assassination of Stormwind's King Llane, and a glimpse of the Lich King's future.

In preparation for the final offensive against the Lich King, the Argent Crusade—a union of holy warriors from the Order of the Silver Hand and the Argent Dawn—assembled a base near Icecrown Citadel to gather resources and identify the champions who would serve at the vanguard of their army. Highlord Tirion Fordring organized a tournament to test potential heroes of the Horde and the Alliance, but agents of the Scourge quickly emerged to sabotage the event. The undead attack culminated with the appearance of the monstrous crypt lord Anub'arak, who attempted to exterminate Tirion's elite force before it could be assembled.

As the final battle against the Lich King approached, the human sorceress Jaina Proudmoore and the Banshee Queen Sylvanas Windrunner journeyed to the icy heart of Northrend. Both had come for different reasons: Jaina hoped to discover whether a part of her former friend and lover, Arthas Menethil, still lived; Sylvanas longed to take revenge on her old enemy. With the aid of these two heroes, Azeroth's champions stormed Icecrown Citadel and vanquished the Lich King's minions. Their confrontation with the Lich King involved thousands of souls consumed by Arthas's blade, Frostmourne. Ultimately, Arthas was slain, and the heroes who triumphed over him learned a chilling truth about the existence of the undead Scourge.

The victorious Northrend expeditions returned home to find all of Azeroth shaken by erratic elemental forces. This unrest preceded the return of the maddened Dragon Aspect Deathwing the Destroyer, who erupted from his lair in the bowels of the Elemental Plane, shattering Azeroth in the process. With the elemental realms now open to the world, chaotic elemental spirits and their tyrannical lords emerged to help the Destroyer and the nihilistic Twilight's Hammer cult bring about the Hour of Twilight: the end of all life on Azeroth.

Alarmed by the terrible losses of life among all trolls, the Zandalari tribe traveled around the world to reunite their race and rebuild their once-powerful empire. The Zandalari restored the fallen cities of Zul'Gurub and Zul'Aman, and begun to conduct bloody raids on territories that had once been "theirs." The burgeoning troll force hoped to lead a great war against the other races of Azeroth, but the honorable Vol'jin of the Darkspear tribe stood against their murderous agenda, and recruited champions from both the Horde and the Alliance to invade the ancient cities and stop the onslaught.

After a ferocious series of battles, Azeroth's heroes banished Ragnaros the Firelord and his elemental minions from Mount Hyjal. Yet, threats to Hyjal persisted, including traitorous druids who had abandoned their allies and joined forces with the elementals. Fearing another elemental invasion, the defenders of Azeroth made a daring assault into Ragnaros' blazing realm: the Firelands. Among the seething flames of this elemental domain, Ragnaros was at his most powerful; only the greatest champions of the Horde and the Alliance, aided by druidic champions like Malfurion Stormrage, could dare hope to defeat the Firelord.

At the peak of his insanity, Deathwing the Destroyer fought to drive the world into twilight - a devastated future bereft of all life. The Dragon Soul, a powerful artifact lost in the past, was the only weapon capable of truly stopping Deathwing, and so the guardians of Azeroth - the Dragon Aspects - sent a number of valiant heroes racing through time to retrieve it. Despite being attacked by the mysterious Infinite Dragonflight as they travelled the timeways, the champions returned the artifact to the present and delivered it to the wise shaman Thrall. With his aid, the Dragon Soul was deployed against the Destroyer during a brutal battle that began in Azeroth's skies and continued into the roiling heart of the Maelstrom at the center of the world. Through the combined efforts of the Aspects and their allies, the madness of Deathwing was finally brought to an end.

Within the last two years and many months of study, it had taken much dedication and work to piece all the history I had managed to get a hold of. Hardly in my own words, but there's only so much you can do with true facts. And only then had I exhausted the first floor of the library's vast collection of knowledge. But there was always more to learn. At the back of my mind, I had a niggling sense of wonder if the compilation of this information was from the previous occupants of Karazhan or if _**SHE**_ had a hand in getting such history into my claws. My suspicions came from the seemingly omnipotent point of view written in the dusty tomes. Maybe it had been written by her, or some ancient old wizard in Dalaran. But I knew in this world, there had been events that happened, or have been happening that I knew not of. After all, my spy network is only starting to grow.

* * *

It wasn't until a full ten years since I had been thrust upon Azeroth's grace did Death communicate with me once again. I had been lounging on the terrace when a bright flash of black light (if that's even possible) a letter had appeared right next to the chalice of blood I was sipping from.

You'd be correct in assuming most people would be surprised to see something appear from nowhere. Maybe a little jump. But not me. When you've had a manipulating headmaster use a phoenix to 'flame jump' all sorts of letters, portkeys and the occasional retrieval unit, you get used to 'sudden' things appearing out of thin air.

With a sigh, I waved a hand over the neatly folded parchment to scan for anything detrimental to my health or an object that might whisk me away to parts unknown. Once it had been cleared to be nothing other than an ordinary piece of thick yellowed paper, I unfolded it and began to read.

 _To Death's Champion,_

 _Your first assigned quest from yours truly. The Fates found it...negligible to inform me that unless something is done, the one known as the Dark Lady will end all life as we know. We as in the general meaning. Regardless, it's up to you to prevent the Banshee Queen from going off the deep end. And I have devised the prefect plan that you must execute._

 _It's known to very few that Sylvanas is transgender. I'm sure you already know the terminology. Anyways, only her sisters are the last living people to know that the Dark Lady was born with male genitals. Of course Azeroth has no known magic to completely change gender. Only you terrans do. She hid it well and by potions and alchemy did Sylvanas achieve her striking femininity, curves and general sexiness (hey, even I can appreciate that ass)._

 _More people know that the Forsaken Warchief has a mostly singular goal: to prevent the destruction and extinction of her people. She seeks to find a way to keep them alive and a way for them to reproduce. This is where you come in._

 _Mistress, your body features both living and undead components. Like I said when we were discussing the construction of your body, your womb is fresh. Combine that with the constant restoration magics and powerful necromancy at work, you could host the offspring of anything really. Well, compatible species anyways. What you will need to do, is have the Banshee Queen impregnate you. You will carry to term and give birth. If the cycle must continue, then it shall be so. In fact, if you can successful bring Sylvanas back from the evil path she is walking, I will make all her people in the same manner as your body, minus the special add-ons but you get my drift. It is imperative this plan succeeds. If it does not, you are under orders to eradicate the problem and take her place as the leader of the Horde._

 _To sum it all up, it's your job to seduce Sylvanas Windrunner, copulate with her in order to bear her heirs so the Forsaken can reproduce. That in turn will keep her from destroying the world. Also since you've been denied love on Earth and because you were such a stick in the mud while growing up, I have decided that you'll have a personal harem to call your own. Ya hear that Mistress? A whole harem of iunno...5-10 ladies who will fall madly in love with you or something. I'll figure something out to get you ladies who will fuck your brains out. Oh yeah. Good luck._

 _Your smart-ass servant,_

 _Death_

 _PS: Maybe one day, you'll even get to fuck me. Ciao~_

"Really? Really? FUCK YOU DEATH!" I cried as I threw the letter onto the table. It was all _**Her**_ fault that Sindragosa was all over me. And this was supposed to happen with up to nine other people? I wish I could have just died instead of being 'reborn'. This was gonna be a messed up ride and I just know I'm going to regret the next thousand years of my life.

* * *

 **A/N: I could help but make Death/Persephone a smartass. Also sorry about the sheer amount of exposition in the one scene. Kinda going with the route that readers know nothing about Warcraft. Also summarizing what Wren learned from her studies into the world of Azeroth. As far as she knows, Wren is not aware of Pandaria, Draenor or most events of Legion. She did have to fend off the Burning Legion who attempted to wrest control of Karazhan from her. Of course with her superior warding she learned on Earth as well as the servants bound to the Guardian's Tower, the Legion had to foothold and were forced to retreat.**

 **Question: Do y'all like it or dislike it when I have the MC occasionally break the fourth wall?**

 **PS: Here's a translation of the incantation Wren used to raise Sindragosa:** _ **Father of Time, Mother of Death. The childe of fire and wind return to this realm. Sister of Shadow, gather the flock. Renew, renew, breathe new life into this being.**_


	4. AN: Whiny bitching incoming

**A/N: Originally, having Wren bring Sindragosa back to life wasn't in my original design. But yanno, brain does weird things when you're horrendously sleep deprived. But hey, the story is about to start getting good. Or is it?**

 **It seems like to me, there are plenty of people who don't seem to care for my work here. People complaining about her being forced to have a child, about Sylvanas...Sylvanas having a dick. Why are people complaining about such petty things?**

 **There's such a thing as constructive criticism and just being a whiny douche because something doesn't fit your exact niche. And unfortunately, I seem to be getting more of the latter than the former.**

 **Are people idiots or is the concept of suspense and incomplete information lost on people nowadays. My readers for the most part just ASSUME they know what's going to happen and don't even think to consider plot twists or other turns in the story. I don't claim to be a professional author and this is little more than a side hobby yet people just enjoy shitting on my work.**

 **Like yeah, I understand if you don't like it, but there's absolutely no point on saying pointless things like: 'I immediately stopped at the Sylvanas part' or '** **Lost just about all interest now that she is being FORCED to have a child without any of her own input.' It's like people are omnipotent on what I'm exactly going to write. Hurr hurr, I know everything!**

 **So here's the big question: is there a point to even continuing this story or should I just go ahead and delete it? Because otherwise, I'm not going to waste my goddamn time just to have my writing shamed by butthurt slubs who can't get what they want.**

 **Continue this or not?**


	5. Chapter III

**A/N: Well, it seems I'll be continuing this story...for now.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter III**_

Mathias Shaw, leader of Stormwind's SI:7 was a man of great intelligence and curiosity. But his determination and desire to protect his home was the force that drove him to be the best of the best. It had been Edwin Vancleef who showed him the ways of the Rogue. He showed great promise and eventually rose to where is now.

He had lived through the worst of many calamities that had befallen Azeroth. The Dark Portal reopening to the Outlands. The fall of a kingdom and the rise of the Lich King. The madness and destruction spread by Deathwing. Discovering an entire continent to the southern seas, uncovering a lost race of anthropomorphic pandas. Then the Horde's former Warchief had gone mad with power, unlocking the power of a dead god. A portal to an alternate dimension of Draenor had the Iron Horde to invade. And most recently, the full might of the Burning Legion invited by a fel crazed orc.

In the process, the Horde and the Alliance worked together to free the people of Suramar from a power hungry Elisande. And on the way, the Horde gained the Nightborne and the Tauren of High Mountain as allies. The long lost Windrunner, Alleria had approached a contingent of exiled blood elves. They had been researching ways to harness the void. It hadn't gone well and resulting the newly dubbed Ren'dorei joined the Alliance as they were no longer welcome in Silvermoon. And like his wife, Turalyon managed to convince the Light Forged to pledge themselves to the Alliance now that the Burning Legion dismantled.

Now they were dealing with the fallout of destroying the corrupted Titan Argus which resulted in Sargeras plunging his blade into the heart of Azeroth. Magni Bronzebeard had foreseen the tragedy and it had been unable to be prevented. To make matters worse, the Horde was trying to monopolize on the lifeblood of the planet herself.

It was all so troubling. It was his duty as the King's Spymaster to not only keep information away from their enemies, but to also find opportunities to keep the Horde from gaining more ground in any aspect. It fell to him to keep the Banshee from monopolizing a valuable resource. How could he manage everything?

"Master Shaw!" said a desperate voice, breaking him out of his pondering. He whirled around, hands hovering over the grips of each dagger belted to his waist.

Kneeling before him was one of his top spies, a young man in his early twenties. Elliot was his name and he was out of breath. He was also sporting a broken arm as well as a few other nasty injuries. The door had been slammed open, leaving a sizable dent in the stained woodwork. It seemed something urgent was afoot.

"Apologies for barging in. While on my patrol, I discovered something troubling, sir." It took the man a few more moment to catch his breath. "I don't know when it appeared, but an unknown structure suddenly appeared. Deadwind Pass, there's new activity. The ruins, they're whole again. I...I've never seen anything of its ilk before. I tried to get a closer look, but I encountered resistance. I'm no match for these foes with the style of fighting I do. We need the big cannons to deal with these fuckers."

"Enemies? What sort of enemy are we dealing with?"

Elliot gave a hollow laugh and asked, "Does Northrend ring a bell? Lordaeron? That, but on a smaller scale. No less horrifying."

"Free roaming undead? That's too close to Stormwind to be of any comfort," Matthias spoke gravely, his features darling with the severity of the situation coming to light. "Definitely too close. There's a clear cut path from the Redridge Mountains to Elwynn and to here. Are you sure this isn't the Horde's attempt to set up a recon camp?"

"Absolutely. These undead were being controlled, unlike The Forsaken. Unless they're just fiercely loyal to whoever holds the strings there. And this new owner seems to have restored Karazhan to its glory." He closed his eyes, the nightmares he had barely escaped flashing beneath his lids. When they opened, the spy asked, "Should we tell King Anduin?"

Shaw stroked his beard, "No, the king doesn't need to know just yet. We need more information before we alarm everyone about such a grave topic. The Scourge is no laughing matter and we need to make absolutely sure. An amateur necromancer can easily be assassinated. A lich however, requires a siege and I do not want to unnecessarily bring the entire Stormwind army if it appears to be a minor problem. But please, give me your report in full detail. And I mean every detail."

"Of course..."

* * *

 _About fifteen days earlier..._

Elliot had been assigned to have a look out though the Redridge Mountains and Duskwood to make sure no Horde opportunists snuck into Elwynn Forest. It had taken a little over a day and a half to cross into the Darkened Bank. He could have taken a horse, but he didn't want to draw any attention to the SI:7. So he had proceeded to travel on foot to lay low. That and to be disguised as a simple traveler.

It wasn't any fun to circumvent bandit camps or murloc hovels. Gnolls were also on the prowl. If he attracted the attention of one, there would be a swarm of them converging on his location. Best bet and course of action was to leap across the rocks near a small waterfall.

When he arrived in Darkshire, the rogue had immediately noticed there was something off about the locals. He was sure they were all human and what not. But there was a difference in the civilians since the last time he had passed by these parts.

Few appeared normal in their day to day activities, he had noticed in the first two hours of discretely watching the townsfolk. But the others, that's where Elliot knew there was something not quite right.

Some were gazing longingly to the mountains to the east, blank looks on their faces. Others seemed more alert than usual, being the Night Watch in that case. Spooked even.

"Excuse me," asked the disguised rogue as he stopped someone in the center of town. "I was wondering if you've seen anything out of the ordinary lately." They shook their head and went on their way. Elliot sighed and asked four more people, all giving a negative response or something incredibly vague. It wasn't until the fifth person, did he make any progress.

"The Vampire Queen was here. Last night, she came on her dragon. She took her tithe...we survived the night..." Elliot tried to get the man to elaborate. But to no avail, he wouldn't say anything further. His attempts at coaxing the truth failed horribly and the man had quickly fled.

Sure he could do a little torture, but he didn't want to coerce them with less than savory methods. These people were just civilians. Victims of some black magic going on. The best way to solve a mystery, is to go to the source. And as clues follow, that was to the east. To Deadwind Pass.

It took him until late evening to hike over the mountains to a safe path into the pass. A quick jaunt to the mouth of the valley. Even from here, he could see the top of Karazhan rising over the leafless tree tops. As usual, the village was a ghost town with a few spirits wandering around. But at the other side of the settlement, he saw it.

Standing at the portcullis were a pair of massive armored skeleton guards, each armed to the teeth. Bigger than men, possibly vrykul were seemingly conversing in a language he didn't understand. And they were massive!

"Oh no...no...this is not good. By the Twisting Nether... the undead... they have returned...!"

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry for the short chapter. Hate to say it, but chapters where Wren isn't directly involved and told from her perspective will probably be short. For now at least. Please bare with me for now.**

 **Anyways, it looks like Karazhan's liveliness has been discovered!**


	6. Chapter IV

**A/N: Sorry it took so long to get this out. I know these chapters have been short and some will continue to be so in the future, but hang tight. They'll get longer once the main part of the story commences. Just gotta get this early crap done first. Without any further ado, please enjoy the chapter.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own either the Harry Potter nor the World of Warcraft franchise. They belong to J.K Rowling and Blizzard Entertainment respectively.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter IV**_

A chorus of caws echoed throughout the dreary atmosphere of the pass on the hour of twilight. Peering over the recently repaired railing of the fifth floor balcony, I gave a wry smile. I can almost see over the trees leading into the swamp to the east. A canopy so thick I doubt even sunlight could filter through. To the north, the mountains of Redridge. Nothing special up there. Despite being unable to leave the entirety of the world beyond Deadwind Pass and a few miles surrounding Karazhan in general, I have slowly learned to appreciate the World of Azeroth.

But of course I have ways of learning about the outside world. While I'm not a fan of demons, a tome I had found a while ago showed me how to manifest a cloaked viewing iris called the Eye of Kilrogg. Fortunately I learned a method to substitute fel energy with shadow energy. While it's range doesn't go beyond the borders of westfall and half way towards the eastern coast of the the Swamp of Sorrows, it still gives me plenty of places to explore with no one the wiser. Well, that is only if I strain myself. It's dead useful.

The less decomposed of my servants and the ones who could cast glamors on themselves to appear to be normal humans or elves would go out and fetch new books, thesis papers and newspapers. They would often do this on the weekly food runs. Although some leave and never come back. I'm not sure if they were stupid enough to get caught or were clever enough to use the cover of an 'errand' to make a break for it. Oh well. Dobby likes working for me at least.

Thankfully, owning a pensieve was absolutely wonderful in learning about the humans of the Eastern Kingdoms. Any memories I was able to extract made it a better second hand experience of the outside world. At least I would be able to travel further than a few miles in a matter of days. My deity of death ordained confinement would expire within the next few days. And it's about bloody damn time!

A presence hovered behind me. He's been there for a few minutes, waiting for me to acknowledge him. Spineless worm. "Yes, servant?" came my soft voice with a seductive lilt and a bit of a honeyed tone. Sometimes there are things I hate about my new body I still hate even after a fricken decade of living with it. Like the sultry, sexy voice that makes me sometimes sound like a vapid whore.

He coughed, tripping over his words, "I...um...you see..." He had to pause for a moment so his brain could recover from my subtle teasing. Swallowing hard, the thrall said, "Your highness, our scouts have sighted living spies watching the Keep."

I frowned, "I had hoped to remain hidden a bit longer. I suppose when Silithus got a brand new landscape, the wards obscuring my home were disturbed and lost their power. No matter, I'll have them back up in a matter of hours."

"Your orders, milady?"

Sigh, these undead are idiots sometimes. At least they're my idiots. "You will do nothing, Argit. Nor will anyone else. And that goes double for the Huntsman. We are not out to make enemies of anyone until I say so. Keep an eye on them, but stay unseen, unheard and completely unnoticed Are my words getting through to you?"

With a salute, the undead man replied, "Yes my queen. I shall spread these instructions at once." He departed soon after, leaving me to stare out at the indigo skies to quite some time.

The twilit atmosphere was my favorite time of day; a strange sadness as dusk falls. It is said it's the only time when our world intersects with theirs. The only time we can feel lingering regrets of spirits who left our world. That is why loneliness always pervades the hour of twilight.

Or at least that's what my eccentric godfather told me the summer before I lost him. Gods, I miss Sirius so much.

A powerful gust of wind blew from below, causing the hem of my velvet lined robes to flutter at the breeze. Looking up, I broke from my reminiscing to realize it was the blue dragon I tentatively befriended had flown up from below. I watched her as she unfurled those large, leathery wings. My eyes followed every movement as the azure scaled dragon soared in the empty skies, seemingly without a care. My lips curved up into a smile ever so briefly before turning around and leaning against the sturdy metal fence. My eyes close, blocking out the tepid evening rays of waning sunlight.

Moments later, I heard the rustling of wings and soon the creak of stone under pressure. If it wasn't that, it was the vibrations I felt underfoot. I don't think it's even possible for a dragon to land silently and without notice. I cracked open my eyes, peering at the shifting dragon.

"Wren, you look troubled," observed Sindragosa smartly as she strolled in my direction. "And quite tired. Have you not been sleeping well?"

I rolled my eyes, as I retorted, "Well you would be too when you've learned that to 'save the world', the apparently only way to do that is to have sex with a corpse woman who is on the verge of becoming the Lich King's successor, get pregnant an me pump out a baby." Realizing how rude that just was, I sighed. "I'm sorry Sin, that was uncalled for. Sleep deprivation is getting to me. But seriously, why is it always me?"

The azure dragon in human returned a puzzled expression as she asked, "Always you? I'm not sure of what context you're speaking of. It may help if you elaborate some."

"May... may I be honest about myself to you, Sindra?"

Canting her head slightly to the left while simultaneously lofting a brow, the dragon in elven form replied, "Well yes, but what would you have to confess to me?"

Whether this was a good idea or not, I shrugged. Might as well finally tell someone all the horrible life I lived. I inhaled and began to speak, "I am not from here. As in, not native to the world of Azeroth. Or any of the other planets with sustainable life in this universe. The best way to explain it is..." I paused to exhale, "the only reasonable explanation I suppose is that I'm from a parallel dimension. A world called Earth, or rather most people do. It's real name is Terra. I know, quite an imaginative name. Anyways, I'm not merely a curious soul who thought it would be 'fun' to jump into an interdimensional gate. No, I am a fighter and I have been one since the day I was born. There was...oh how do I explain it?"

"Maybe start from the beginning?" supplied Sindra.

I took a breath in and exhaled. "Well, I guess the first thing to know is that I'm an orphan. I grew up not knowing who my parents were or much about them. There was an obscenely stupid prophecy made about me that I'm not sure was entirely real. But the mad wizard Voldemort and the secretly-deranged Dumbledore believed in it one hundred percent. So once it was clear that the Dark wizard was aware of the prophecy, my parents were sent into hiding.

"On my world, there's a spell called the fidelius charm and it's used to hide anything and anyone. There is a designated person called the secret-keeper the spell is cast upon. When the secret is designated, all memory of that item or persons is erased. The only way to know about it is to be told the secret." I paused to catch my breath. "So know you know how that works, is who the secret keeper was. Everyone thought it had been my godfather but in reality, it had been a traitorous rat named Peter Pettigrew. That slimy bastard sold my parents lives to Voldemort just to live another day."

Quietly, Sindragosa hissed, "There is no place deep enough in the Twisting Nether for that man."

Sadly, I said, "But it didn't end there, friend. Not by a long shot. Like I said, Voldemort learned of their location and he killed them in cold blood. Then he came for me. I was sitting in my crib, drooling as infant's do. He raised his wand at me and used a spell that causes instant death. It severs the soul from the body. But for some reason, it reflected off of me and struck him. He disintegrated, but did not die. He made phylacteries and so his spirit fled.

"At this point, I was taken by a manipulative old man and placed with my mother's abusive sister's home. They were mundane and hated magic in every manner possible. They treated me like a slave from the moment I could walk to eleven. I only then learned I was a witch...magus. terms are confusing between worlds. Anyways, I went to learn how to use magic nine months out of the year and returned in the summer only to do chores for them. Oh and by this point in my life, the conniving headmaster of Hogwarts had concealed my real gender and had me masquerading as a boy until I was strong enough to break the enchantment myself. Which wasn't until I was sixteen. Anyways, this rote bullshit continued until I was seventeen and could move out on my own. But that's just the home life."

I paused to catch my breath before continuing further. "Hogwarts was a magical castle built on three intersecting ley lines so it was brimming with mana and whatnot. So during my first year as I was a fledgling student, I had to not only deal with learning about an entirely new world, but also a useless teacher possessed by the man who murdered my parents. He had tried to steal a magical artifact that granted immortality. Because no one would listen to me, I had to go down into a dangerous corridor that had me deal with a three headed dog, vines that strangle, a towering monster mostly immune to spells, deal with a giant chess board, solve a riddle about what potion would grant me fire immunity and murder the possessed teacher. And that was all in the first year. And I was 11 at the time too."

Seemingly impressed, Sondra said, "Not even fledgling whelps do anything like that for a few centuries. By then, they're young drakes learning to shapeshift."

Sourly, I continued, "But wait, there's more! In my second year, a giant fucking snake called a basilisk was terrorizing the school. It's eyes could kill with a direct look. A mirror or water only petrified. And its venom is the most virile of any snake; it can kill in minutes. I went to into the chamber of secrets to do battle with a memory controlled by a phylactery as well as the snake. Which I mention, I slew with a sword. Stabbed it in the roof of the mouth. A fang got lodged in my shoulder." I exhaled.

"How are you even alive?"

"Phoenix tears. On my world, the tears of a phoenix contain incredibly powerful healing and restorative properties." I shook my head. "I did something else just as dumb. I swallowed the artifact I had saved the year before because my twelve year old brain thought it would save my life. All it ended up doing is turning me nigh immortal. Which makes the next several years a little more plausible. So the third year, my godfather escaped a Wizarding prison called Azkaban. Nasty place. So the Ministry decides to station dementors on the school grounds to try and catch my godfather. Long story short, I met Sirius for the first time near the end of that year and had to fight off over a hundred dementors to save our lives. There was also some time travel and other bullshit."

"You don't do things by half, do you Wren?"

With a little laugh, I replied, "Not on purpose. Year four, I was entered into a tournament that was designed to kill me. They forced me to steal a fake egg made of gold from a nesting dragon mother." Sindragosa gave a small growl at hear this, helping me remember she is a dragon instead of a tall elven woman. "Then I had to dive into a murky lake in the middle of winter to save my dumbass 'best friend' from not so friendly merfolk. Then there was a deadly maze filled with numerous magical creatures, traps, spells and the sort all whole navigating an ever shifting maze. Then at the end, a portkey takes me to some podunk cemetery in the middle bloody nowhere while my chivalrous rival is murdered and I'm forced to sit as my blood is used to resurrect Voldemort. Somehow, I made it out alive. So the next year after that, the Ministry of Magic runs a smear campaign on me and the headmaster because the idiotic minister didn't want to believe that a dangerous dark wizard was back. And at the end of the year, I ended up fighting Voldemort again and opening everyone's eyes. The most two years of my schooling were dedicated to hunting down the Dark wizard's phylacteries and destroying them so I could end him once and for all. Which I did in a crazy all out battle at Hogwarts. It was just a huge mess afterwards."

The horned woman stared at me for a good five minutes before exhaling a small plume of blue fire. "That's a lot of information that if you were anyone else, I would not believe it." She would have probably said more, but I interrupted with another little rant.

"So here I am with a sort of frail but attractive body that oozes sexuality, awarded an immortal bastion of undying servants within a magical fortress I did not earn a single brick for while Lady Death intends for me to gather a hypersexual harem of hotties. And all I have to do is give up my virginity to an undead megalomaniac and have her child just to save Azeroth from having another 'Scourge' incident but ten times worse. But the thing is, I don't want to do it. I just want to be me and live my life in peace. I just wanna be a normal girl, yanno?" I don't know what prompted me to tell her all that. She could probably use all that as blackmail against me. If it was me, I'd exploit the hell out of such information. Maybe I'm just that terrible of a person.

I felt the other woman's arms around my shoulders as she replied slowly, "Well, that's certainly a heavy burden on your shoulders. But not one you have to carry yourself. There are people in this world who will help you do what is right, even if it's not the easiest choice to make. You lived a rough life that most people would have collapsed under that weight after that second year. So why don't you let some of us shoulder the weight holding you down."

"What do I do?"

Much to my chagrin, one of the hands on my shoulder tousled my shoulder length hair while the other caressed my hip as Sindra suggested, "I'm not sure if this means much to you, but my former consort Malygos always said that there isn't much that a well thought out ritual can't do. With enough planning, I'm sure you can restore the Forsaken. So perhaps that's something you could do instead of sleeping with the Warchief and hoping to get pregnant."

"You're a genius, Sindra!" I whooped. I gave her a small apology for yelling in her ear, chastising myself. "Sorry friend. It's just that I totally forgot that aspect of magic."

"Forgiven, Wren. Although, I'd rather you not do it again. My ears are pretty sharp, being a dragon and all. Did they have ritual magic in your world?"

Nodding excitedly, I chattered, "Loads actually. It ranges from being really simple to extraordinarily complex. Some requires a wand or staff, and an incantation while others need runes, multi-paragraph spells and potions. Intent is really important behind magic in my world and I'm willing to bet that's how it behaves on Azeroth as well."

Scratching her chin, the pale bluenette said, "I never really considered that much. I'll have to look more into the intent poured into magic and see about the results. Perhaps that is something we could make an experiment of together."

"I'd like that," I replied softly.

"So it might just be a ritual or combination of things that might get you the cure to undeath that isn't outright killing the Forsaken," Sindra concluded.

With a humorless chuckle, I digressed, "Well enough about my sob story. I hardly know all that much about you and anything in general about the dragons of Azeroth."

"My story isn't filled with much mirth either, but if you wish, I would be willing to tell you the tale of me and the Blue Flight. I hatched from my egg in the Borean Tundra of Northrend. I was groomed to be the mate of the Aspect of magic. I had no say of course. It's an honor to any jill to become the broodmother of their flight."

A term I didn't know, so I queried, "I'm afraid I'm not familiar with that term. What is a jill?"

Giving a small chuckle, Sindra pinched my cheek much to my dismay as she said, "Jill is a term for a female dragon. Broodmother is the only one allowed to lay eggs in a single flight. Illegitimate eggs are smashed or eaten."

"That sounds a tad...barbaric."

Sindra shrugged and replied nonchalantly, "It is the way how dragon's work if you put it in layman's terms. We are an ancient species divided only by the color of our scales. Well, there are other minute details, but my point still stands. Tis but the hierarchy of our race."

Curious, I queried, "I don't mean to be rude or pry into things that aren't my business, but what about after you...y'know...died?" Good job Wren, way to be totally insensitive.

"Truth to be told, I don't remember a whole lot before I was murdered by the Lich King. The memories there are muddled and hazy. Maybe one day I'll recall them with the same clarity as I recall during my first resurrection even if it was under the subjugation of that mad tyrant." She gave a soft sigh. "Whenever I close my eyes, I can see the destruction I had caused. Whenever I sleep, I dream of the terror and slaughter I had done, even if I was not in control."

In a quiet, somber tone, I said aloud, "So that is why I sometimes wake up to being spooned by a dragon girl. Not the worst thing to wake up to, I suppose." At that comment, Sindragosa's pale cheeks clearly supported a light pink dusting. Wait, she was blushing at that? I was just being facetious!

"But it's not all bad," the dragoness said, straying away from both the morbid topic and the awkward one that followed. "Only until a few months ago, I thought my Flight was all but extinct. It turns out that on the Broken Isles that were rediscovered that my kin still lives. Azsuna where my great uncle Senegos and his brood reside. Someday, I would like to visit them there, to show I still live."

"Oh...I'm A huge fucking idiot."

Lifting a brow, Sindra said in regards to my off topic outburst, "I'm pretty sure you've got quite an impressive intellect, Wren. If you have not only the power, mana and a sufficient amount of brain power to resurrect me of all things, not fall unconscious and still standing, then you're anything but short of a genius."

I snickered, "Thanks for stroking my ego, but that's not what I meant. I just had an epiphany, one that would have worked better in hindsight. I have a device called a pensieve that lets me extract memories and put them in the basin. If someone touches the basin and there are memories stored within it, one can relive the times to review past experiences. Also to help explain things to people in the dark. And I had just realized I told you all that embarrassing stuff about my past when I could have just shown you my memories!"

Ruffling my hair, the blue dragoness said, "Go to get some rest. We can talk about magic and formulas later." I mumbled something incoherent and headed inside to my chambers.

* * *

I had slept through the rest of the evening and most of the next afternoon, showing how tired I had truly been. It had been like my early days as an Unspeakable; studying for hours on end, using coffee, energy drinks and pepper-up potions to keep me awake for days at a time until I was forcibly sent to bed by Dobby or the other house elves.

Speaking of, it seemed the tower's servants were actually doing their job in keeping the Ivory Spire spotless.

A knock alerted me to someone's presence. When I told them to come in, I found that it was just the Keeper, Moroes. With a sigh, I asked, "What is it?"

Bowing respectfully, the undead servant relayed, "Mistress, you have visitor at the front gate. Three rather mysterious fellows. I do not know what they would ask of you not any other of their intentions. I'd advise you to exercise caution in with dealing with them."

"We've known each other for ten years, Moroes. You have no need to worry over me," I chided, draping an outer cloak over my robes."I am a nigh immortal vampire enhanced to the high heavens. Nothing short of a black hole could even have the slightest notion of putting me down for good. I will be fine."

"Of course my lady," he said after a few scrutinizing seconds. "The guests are waiting in the courtyard. I shall personally take them to the foyer. You may leisurely join us at your earliest convenience."

Phew, he bought that lie. True is, I'm actually frail due to an illness. Magically, just as powerful as ever. Physically, pretty weak. When I had chosen for my body to take the best traits from a few different races, Death failed to mention the wee possibility that I may have a DNA/gene incompatibility disease. I don't know much about it because experiments on combining and splicing are inherently prohibited in Britannia. So any research would be theory, leaving me utterly in the dark with this illness. So far, most of my symptoms is internal bleeding, extreme weakness, the occasional fever with an accompaniment of a migraine, and excruciating agony.

Naturally, I haven't told anyone but Moroes as he is my personal attendant. I would tell dobby, but I don't need someone with his...fanaticism worried about my health. As much of a good friend Sindra is, I daren't tell her last I be 'scolded' for keeping something important from her. They mean well, but sometimes it's too much.

By the time I've made my way down to the foyer, I can see three large masculine figure shrouded in dark cloaks, speaking to my manservant. I did not know these three and it made me irritated that they came here without even so much as a letter requesting an audience.

Today I was not having the patience to deal will any bullshit, so I went to the point right away, "Well, I'm here. What would you ask of me?"

They turned to me, the youngest one a little surprised to see me, a 'young' woman being the current master of the tower. Maybe I'll get used to those looks. The middle one said after a few agonizingly slow minutes, "I am Ariden. Beside me is Onmund, Thalos to my left and it is not what you can do for us and more of what we can do to make your life easier."

Eyes narrowed, I replied coolly, "And what could you possibly offer me that would be of convenience to me that I do not already have access to? And may I remind you as a master sorceress, anything magical is not beyond my limits." I'm getting good at this lying thing. Maybe I would have done great in Slytherin.

"We have recently reacquired an artifact that had been stolen from us," answered the eldest of the three, pulling out a rectangular box. "As a token of good faith, we would like to bequeath this enchanted blade to you and your cause. With this gift, we would gain your favor."

I accepted the proffered box. I briefly lifted the lid off the top of the gift and peered inside. What I found was a medium sized dagger. The hilt was fashioned similar to a rapier, meaning it had a closed grip. The back of that featured brusque spikes that could be meant to shove someone away as well as cause some damage. Upon the black and silver blade was a set of softly glowing azure runes, pulsing to an unknown rhythm. It was plain-ish, but held craftsmanship I knew was impossible on Earth. I don't know what they can do here on Azeroth, but it was certainly something. Enchanted? Likely. Useful? That would remain to be seen. With a soft sigh, I banished the now closed box to the desk in my chambers.

"Well, why are you still here?" I snapped, already quite bored of their presence. My cold reddish eyes glared at the three.

Swallowing, Onmund said, "Well, we were hoping to cement an alliance between your faction and the Dark Riders. In exchange for a more permanent base of operation as well as expanding our information network, we will hand over a few of our finds to you."

My scowl deepened. "And what are these finds of yours? I want them to be of worth to me if I am going to allow you and your organization to remain in Deadwind Pass. Otherwise, I would find no point in keeping your filth around." Jeez, it's so hard to act like an arrogant, powerful noble. Is this what it's like to grow up as a pureblood?

"Well, we are currently tracking a few artifacts recently stolen from one of our caches," spoke the eldest again. A powerful greatsword known as Apocalypse, a staff called the Scythe of Elune and an infamous focus called the Deadwind Harvester."

My eyes glinted. Elune. I knew that word. It was the goddess of the moon in the Kaldorei culture. Plenty of deities seem to exist in this universe. So I pressed in a presumptive tone, "The Scythe of Elune. Tell me more."

Ariden shuddered at my piercing gaze while the youngest took over, "The Scythe of Elune is a mystical artifact created from Goldrinn's fang and the Staff of Elune. It is described as an ancient weapon - a twisted and gnarled branch of wood covered with runes that could be older than even the Kaldorei people. Sources say it's the source of the worgen curse and one with enough Balance could use it to tame their primal rage. As for the other two-"

"I did not ask information about," I spoke coldly, stopping the relic-hunter in the middle of his sentence. "I will be able to make use of a weapon like that. Go and fetch that for me. If you do so and survive, then we'll talk more about a tentative alliance. Dismissed!"

Immediately, the Black Riders took heel, almost rushing out of the tower. Moroes seemed slightly relieved to see those three gone. I did not blame him.

Of course I have my own plans I've begun to set in motion. I feel like a bit of an idiot. The worgen. It's the perfect way to alter the werewolf curse on Earth so it's less of a problem. While it may be no cure, but it would drastically lower the numbers of rampant werewolves and thus reducing attacks. If I can somehow harness the power of this Scythe of Elune to turn the infected humans into worgen, I can make people's lives easier. And maybe I can make Remus stop being such a whiny little bitch.

Wait. How am I going to get back to Earth to do that?

* * *

Later that evening, I headed down to the livery stables to take a look at the steeds available for use. Sure I can apparate, make a portkey, use my broom or even that musty old flying carpet to get around, there's something relaxing

"What are you doing down here, little girl?" growled a gravelly baritone. I looked up from the handful of oats I had offered to one of the stallions. I gave a sigh. Of course that prick would he here.

"Attumen. What can I do for you?" I said, straining to remain polite.

Without any foreplay, the huntsman snarled, "I want you to resign from being master of the tower. I have seen the look in your eyes when you see my prized Midnight. But she's mine! But that's not all I have a problem with. You may have the rest of the staff fooled but I alone see through your facade! You are weak, fragile and worthless. Little girls like you aren't meant to be in power. I want you out of here by daybreak."

A frown turned into a scowl. I knew we didn't get along, but I was unaware how much of a misogynistic prick he was. Calmly, I said, "If I were you, I would not antagonize the one who holds your life in her hands. Especially when she can snuff your existence out like a candle."

"Why you huffed up, arrogant bitch," growled Attumen as he unsheathed his blade. "I'll teach you to threaten me-"

My wand flung down my arm and into my hand seconds after the second syllable of his first word. With a counterclockwise flick in the air and then an upward flourish, chains flew out of the tip of the focus and bound the taller warrior to the stable walls.

"What must I do to make you behave?"

"Fuck off ya cunt!" he spat, spittle flying as he frothed with fury.

I don't know what it was about his words that set me off. Maybe it was his holier-than thou attitude, his belief that men were superior to women or just his ugly face. Whatever it was, I wasn't going to let him get away with such blatant disrespect. "Crucio," I hissed, hatred boiling in my eyes.

The moment those words left my lips, the bound body of the hunter began to convulse. At first, Attumen fought against the torture curse. His face was screwed up in defiance. But that lasted a few scant seconds before he cried out in pain.

I sneered, "You are a fool, Attumen. I gave you a chance after the last time you fought against me for being the Mistress here. This is your last warning. The next time you so much as insult me, I will take your head and your soul will be banished to oblivion."

Not a second was spared before I turned heel, giving a dreadful sigh and left, leaving the huntsman chained to the wall. Blood was dripping down my nose from overexertion but I found it was worth the cost. When I was at the end of the hall leading into the servant's quarters, I could hear his hoarse scream, "This is not the end of this, witch!"

* * *

(Third Person PoV)

He had seen it for himself. The keep in the pass. Scores of undead had come out of the woodwork when his small team had attempted to infiltrate the fortress

Anduin was trying his best not to fall asleep, a hand propping his head up. The reason for such boredom? It was the day of the week were the common folk were allowed an audience with the sovereign. Trivialities and inane questions to answer while there were far bigger fish to fry. Matthias did not envy his king.

The Spymaster while juggling the issue of Silithus, felt this being closer issue was a bigger threat. "My King. I have urgent news you may not like."

Looking up from the rabble gathered at the center of the throne room, the young blooded heir of the Wrynn's found the leader of the SI:7 leaning in close. "What is it, Matthias?"

Exhaling, the green eyed, auburn haired rogue finally replied in a hushed voice, "I took a small force of my men, a few rogues as well as a few heavy hitters I recruited in Old Town; I had them venture to an area of a potential threat. This morning, I received news of the mission status. It failed, and most horrendously. It's too close to Stormwind to ignore. I know Silithus is an important target to focus on as well as the Horde, but I think this may be more important right now."

"Where?"

"Karazhan."

Taking a deep breath, the golden haired king said, "Tell me everything you know about this threat you've discovered."

* * *

 **A/N: I hope you all enjoyed the chapter. Expanding a little on that little scene between Wren confessing her history to Sindra; specifically when she mentioned her frailty. When Death made the new body for her, she forgot to mention that mixing races might not be the best idea due to conflicting genes as well as mixing necromancy with restoration magic. This left Wren with an illness with no name (yet). As much magical power as she has, Wren cannot cure herself and is often forced to be confined to bed for a few days on the more severe episodes.**

 **As of yet, I do not know how powerful Wren is yet in comparison to others in WoW. So we'll need to figure it out. She could be as strong as Antonidas or as weak as that gnome in Northrend who tried to summon a demon he could not control. That's something to figure out in the future I suppose.**

 **Also, I do have quite a sinister plan involving Xal'atath, the Blade of the Black Empire...**

 **Anyways, until next time~**


	7. Chapter V

**A/N: Here's another chapter, my loyal readers (Not you, Moisty-Slub-Jorts). I hope you're all enjoying the content I've been bringing to the table. I do apologize for the hell of a wait. Just been very busy with life, depression and the hopeless inevitable.**

 **Also, I don't know why a, one of the reviewers keeps reading despite their clear dislike of the story, and b, keeps insisting this is a self-insert story. It's not.**

 **If it was, it wouldn't be a crossover story at all. It'd be straight Warcraft fic with my OC Velanas Dawnrose as the main character. Or you know, the actual IRL version of me going into the World of Warcraft. You see, writing in first person doesn't make it a self-insert. It's just a writing perspective. You're a fool of you can't discern the difference. Scratch that, you're a fucking idiot if you can't understand the difference between a self-insert and a perspective of writing.**

 **Also, I gotta give props to my friend Hirondelle for helping me with finishing the chapter.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own either the Harry Potter nor the World of Warcraft franchise. They belong to J.K Rowling and Blizzard Entertainment respectively.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter V**_

A small troop of thirty men had attempted to approach the Great Spire that Pierces through the Heavens. But they had barely entered the pass when they had been ambushed. All but four of those warriors had perished. And only one of those four who made it out alive would be able to keep serving in the military. The family of those who had lost their loved ones had wept and funerals had been held for those who had given their lives in vain to thwart the undead threat.

"What am I to do?" Anduin groaned, clutching at his head. In his clenched hand was the compass of the late Varian Wrynn. "Our men never even stood a chance. And they were hand picked from the royal infantry and the SI:7. How can we even right this wrong? The pass is too narrow to send the might of the Alliance and it would just be a chokepoint. I will not be the Shepherd who leads lambs to the slaughter." His voice grew confident and slightly inspirational. "My father was Lo'gosh and he held the spirit of Goldrinn inside him. He was indomitable and so must I. All of us cannot. We are lions and we will not let some necromancer get the better of us."

A few of the nobles and many of the guards gave a small applause. It wasn't the same, like the former king of Stormwind. The speech did not hold the same hope or impact the young king's father did.

Baron Aldius Lescovar pointed this out subversively. "It may be all good that you haven't fallen into depression and psyched yourself up into facing this terror head on, but we have yet to actually uncover who the mastermind is behind it. For all we know, the Defias Brotherhood could have reformed after all these years. Edwin's daughter is still out there and I have no doubt she holds plenty of animosity for her father's unfortunate demise."

"Preposterous!" argued another noble. "Those red scarves never used necromancers in any of their operations and I don't think even they would stoop to such monstrous methods. They're thieves and cutthroats. If they were back, they'd have sent assassins and mercenary forces after us by now."

Scowling, another member of the Council of Nobles said, "Gentlemen, you are not contributing anything worthwhile to this discussion. It doesn't matter who this necromancer is affiliated with and who they do and do not work for. What does matter is that we swiftly put an end to the threat he poses to us."

"As loath as I am to even suggest this, but perhaps the Alliance cannot undertake such a task on its own. With Jaina missing, maybe, just maybe we would strike a bargain," Mathias said slowly, gaining the attention of the room. "While it would be easier to attempt to hire mercenaries, it would be weeks before a tentative accord can be cemented we just don't have the time to spare. Not unless you want our farmers and townsfolk to fall prey to the armies of the damned. No, what we need is an already organized army to help us that can see reason. So that leaves us with the Horde. We may not be on the best terms with them, but if we want to deal with this problem as soon as possible, we may just have to concede our pride until after this menace has been taken care of, lest it spreads ever closer."

Growling out an rupture in the debate, Genn Greymane rumbled hatefully, "Blasphemy! There is no reasoning with the Horde! Sylvanas is just another Arthas waiting to happen. An abomination to be purged!" During this interruption, the worgen had haired up, his jowls bared and hands shaking in anger.

Shaw gripped the Gilnean noble on the shoulder and none too gently. "I think it may be time you get some rest. You've been hardly eating as much as you've been tracking the Warchief's every movement. Commendable, but I think your lack of sleep is making it harder for you to focus on the big picture here. I will find you later for further input when you've gotten more than a few winks of sleep."

Holding his head as he shifted back to his human form, Genn shook his head to clear the daze. "I think you may be right, Shaw. I haven't been sleeping much with my dedication to the Alliance. I may be a worgen but even we aren't as tireless as the wretched undead." Standing up from his seat, the old war dog bowed respectfully and said, "I'll see you in a few hours, your majesty."

Once the aged man had left the war council, Anduin supplied drly, "Charismatic as ever I see. Good work calming him down before would have to suffer through another of his 'anti-Sylvanas' tirades. He means well, but...you know. I may hold no love for the Warchief myself, but I won't dedicate my entire existence to hunting and killing one woman. Gilnean blood runs hot, but I fear it will be his end one of these days. Now I believe you said you think it would be prudent to have Horde forces assist us?"

"Quite," replied the master rogue. "As effective as a pincer maneuver is, it cannot work for us in this situation. The terrain is too uneven to try to scale up the side with a ladder. Even using the grappling devices we acquired in Stormheim will do us no good. Though I am proud of the elites under my command, I personally do not think they're enough for this. While I am usually against frontal assaults, I fear it may be our only option."

Several of the nobles stood up in indignative protest, only to be silenced by the king and his guard. Stroking his immaculate mustache, one of Elwynn's oldest councilmen, John Harlocke spoke, "Some of you may think asking the Horde for aid is an act of betrayal. In most circumstances, that would be an undisputed answer. Like several times before, the Alliance has temporarily set aside our differences to achieve something for the greater good of Azeroth. Usually in the face of great calamity. I believe this is one of those times."

Another noble, one of lanky features asked, "What makes you think this is a situation so dire to think we need the Horde's soldiers?"

John answered, "Well to be blunt, a single necromancer on their own is quite a problem. No one man can simply waltz up and cut the head off. It usually takes a skilled team to take care of one and his minions. An average necromancer at that, mind you. Most of you have seen what a truly competent master of the black arts can accomplish. Take the fallen prince of Lordaeron for example. He was just one man, a paladin even and fell prey to the evil magics of the cursed blade. He slew a good man in cold blood just to get revenge on a crafty demon. And from there, he eventually became the lich king in which the following war had more casualties than I'd like to admit. Are you willing to risk our kingdom, our honor and the entirety of the Alliance simply to hold onto your pride?"

Not one council member, guard or the king retorted to what the noble spoke of. Everyone here had lost someone while defending from the Scourge. Nearly all of Lordaeron fell in such a short period of time. And what left of it became the Plaguelands and the distorted lands of Tirisfal Glades.

"As reluctant as I am to agree to this," Anduin said, severing the tension, "I shall dispatch a courier at once. There will be no vote for any of you, for this is far larger than simple skirmishes. This council has been adjourned for today," sighed Anduin as he rubbed his temple. As a priest, he usually stayed away from alcohol. But today was just one of those days.

* * *

"What makes this dagger so 'special'?" I muttered to myself, drumming a finger against the desk. A piece of parchment sat on my desk, a quill and an inkwell nearby. So far, I have composed a small list of what I knew about this 'enchanted' dagger. And of course using scanning spells didn't help much. Those riders said it was an ordinary knife. But I knew better. An ordinary knife doesn't glow or give off a shadowy aura. It's history is obviously shrouded in magic and bloodshed. So why did they give the macabre knife to me? What angle are the Dark Riders pushing here?

At first, I had done my research without touching it. As far as I knew, it could be cursed. Obviously after the whole Horcrux debacle in my 7th year, I learned my lesson, probably. I could feel an unnerving aura of magic surrounding the blade, not dissimilar to the soul magic used to make the horrible phylacteries in my world.

More experiments were necessary because I obviously wasn't getting any intended results from my diagnostics. It was almost mocking, just sitting there inertly like a common pebble. Taunting me to pick it up. I frowned. There was no way I was going to touch a magical object without knowing what it does. Well other than stabbing.

The tip of my quill twitched at the corner of my mouth, resisting the urge to bite it. That bad habit had been a memento of my time with Hermione at Hogwarts. Often, we'd both get ink on our faces while doing homework and not realizing it. What would Hermione Granger do?

I tried to imagine a little pocket version of my former best friend, but all I could think of was a picture of her lecturing and badgering me about how I could just up and abandon everyone, jump into a mysterious portal and get whisked off to a bloody new world without informing anyone. Well, that's a new headache.

Okay, so that didn't do much of anything other than a new throbbing irritation in my brain. This was getting annoying. Maybe focus less on what enchantments are on it and more on what it does. Perhaps it's been hexed to drain someone of their life? Or make their blood boil? Maybe set whatever touches it on fire?

Well, I can hypothesize for days, but that won't mean jackshit unless I actually do something to test any one of my theories. Rising from my seat, I went to my old Hogwarts trunk and set about rummaging about. It held the bare minimum of what I'd used in the last few years of schooling, well minus clothing and books. After some odd minutes, I returned to my desk with a few tools; a silver knife, a muggle pen, a bezoar and a ratty old quill.

Taking the tattered writing implement, I poked and prodded the artifact. That didn't amount to much other than fraying the quill further. With the pen, I did the same although I noticed that none of the ink remained on the blade where I tried to write my name. Trying something a little different, I dropped the stone on the dagger a few times. Each attempt, I discovered the tool was unblemished of scratches. With the silver knife, I tried to stab the flat of the blade to see if it would snap. On the fourth motion, the knife shattered, pelting me with shrapnel.

Huh...nothing was working.

Maybe the Dark Riders were allied with Attumen trying to get back at me for punishing him. But clearly, I must be going about this the wrong way as I'm not making any further progress. With a sigh, I finally picked up the dagger and held it up to the light.

Suddenly, the eye at the end of the hilt opened up, exposing a very inhumane pupil and an unnatural iris color.

' _ **So, another wanderer finally grasps my hilt,**_ ' purrs a soft, yet seductive voice. If I was not familiar with mind magicks as well as telepathy via curse scar and other similar things, I would have whipped my head around the room looking for an intruder, but I'm not going to make myself look like a fool in front of the unknown. ' _ **Oh my, it looks like my newest 'owner' has a stronger force of will than the pathetic worms who previously wielded me. Perhaps the Winds of Change blow once more...'**_

"A sentient dagger? This is a new one. I've dealt with living phylacteries. So this is why they didn't ask so much for a payment..."

' _ **Indeed.,'**_ whispered the smug voice of the dagger. _**"I realize it may be... disconcerting to converse with a weapon. Be at ease; I merely wish to see you reach your full potential. Why, just recently I helped another mortal hero defeat the Burning Legion. My selfless sacrifice left me weakened. Sadly, that priest proved... shortsighted."**_ The sultry voice paused for a moment before addressing me further, " _ **You though... I sense you are truly destined for greatness. We shall accomplish remarkable things together, you and I. Magnificent things."**_

"That still doesn't explain how you came to be in possession of those hooded men. A 'hero as you put it, wouldn't fall so easily for an ambush or an obvious trap," I snipped at the being hosted inside the blade.

' _ **I influenced my last wielder to...wander somewhere unsafe. As they are wanton to do, the Darkriders kept me from falling into the hands of unsavory cultists. And a simple nudge here and there, I had them bring me to the one who is from beyond the void. You may call me Xal'atath though many oft refer to me as the Blade of the Black Empire. A bit rude on their behalf. But it is fortunate I fell into your hands."**_

"Meaning?"

Xal'atath crooned, ' _ **Oh don't play such trifling games with someone who has been doing the same thing for eons. I am aware you are not from any world in this reality or this dimension. Altogether, you are a true visitor from afar. A being neither truly alive nor entirely undead all granted by the Inevitable One. An exciting anomaly that makes you far more than a pawn in the grand scheme. The question is, how can I use your potential to grant me a vessel beyond my current sentient existence?"**_

From what I could garner from its twisting words, it wanted to use me as a tool to accomplish something. Most likely by possession. So I voiced aloud, "You intend to use me as a puppet until you can have a body of your own?"

' _ **An amusing jest, but not quite what I have in store for you, my friend. Those methods are too crude and hold no challenge. For now, let's just say we have a like minded goal and it would be remiss for us not to work together. And when the time comes, you help me obtain a body of my own. A win-win situation, is it not?'**_

A dubious offer to be sure. "I will consider the offer for now. When I am ready to provide an answer, I will contact you again."

' _ **Consideration is the least I ask of you. Farewell, Riftwalker...'**_

* * *

"It's been such a long time since I've been in Stormwind..."

The Warchief strode towards the throne, her heeled boots clacking on the polished stone floor. Her gait spoke volumes to onlookers; not hostile, but not friendly. The bone bow was sheathed on her back as was her quiver.

Lilian Voss strode on the queen's left, Eitrigg on the right with Lasan following behind closely. Baine Bloodhoof and Lor'themar Theron as well as First Arcanist Thalyssra too were in attendance as respective arrival was received in near silence, the human guards clearly on edge. Beyond that, the Horde delegation was swiftly shown to the council room.

Besides Anduin and Greymane, the other Alliance leaders too were seated on one side of the ornate table. Tyrande Whisperwind was seated beside Velen and Thalyssra on her other side. Hightinker Mekkatorque sat on a pile of books unashamed beside the elderly draenei. There was an empty space between Queen-Regent Moira Thaurissan and Aysa Cloudsinger, showing the obvious absence of Alleria Windrunner. Another seat with the Dalaran crest meant for Jaina Proudmoore was empty. From there, the remaining seats were filled with Baine, Lasan, Eitrigg and the undead rogue. Gazlowe and Rokhan too were absent.

Palpable was the nonverbal enmity circulating the chambers. It could be broken, most likely in a violent fashion. Lives hinged on the matter at hand and Anduin knew it. Many races between the two factions held intense grudges that could not be solved easily. A compromise could be met, but one or another leader could be angered or terribly shoved under the nearest war machine so to speak. Vendettas could sink deeper than blood and could rest for years before coming to a bloody conflict. It would take careful consideration of each race's demands for them to secure aid.

"So," began Sylvanas, rupturing the tension with her razor intonation. Her voice was otherworldly when she spoke, "I'm rather surprised that I received an invitation from none other than the High King of the Alliance to meet him in his own keep. And you do not disarm me or my fellow emissaries of the Horde. Quite a lot of trust you're placing in me, Anduin Wrynn. Almost foolishly so..."

The person standing to the left of the seated young man balled his hands into fists, trying to reign in his temper. Genn Greymane, a stubborn man with a powerfully built body. He appears to be an aging human, but a ferocious beast lies beneath the skin.

"I am glad you answered my summons in a prompt manner as well as informing your compatriots here. I wish I would not have to ask for your assistance. It is no small matter to attend as one would an errand. To business I suppose."

A small smirk splayed on Sylvanas' lips. Her voice brimmed with smugness as she said, "The boy king finally realises who his betters are. This calls for celebration. Bravo. It really is adorable to see how you match up to the adults now you are out of your father's immense shadow."

Ignoring the woman's jibe, Anduin continued, "A few days after we drove the main force of the Burning Legion from Azeroth, a new structure was discovered between the Duskwood province, south of the Redridge Mountains and west of the Swamp of Sorrows. Well, the Deadwind Pass to be more precise. Shaw tells me one of his scouts investigated something odd going on down there. It seems that someone or something has moved in. Karazhan has been showing quite a lot of activity for a supposedly unoccupied ruin. My guess is a rogue necromancer we somehow missed in the purges several years back. That, or a very powerful and wealthy lich setting up shop. The Tower appears to have been restored although we aren't sure whether it is a powerful illusion or the real deal. Our troops alone haven't been able to safely approach it."

Raising an eyebrow, the undead elf queried, "This fortress, you've been unable to breach it? I would laugh at your ineptitude at being unable to kill one necromancer if I wasn't so intimately familiar with how much evil one man can do given the opportunity."

Shaw answered in his lord's stead, "Admittedly, we have been unable to get near any possible entrance. It is an absolute fortress, nearly as well protected as Icecrown Citadel if on a slightly smaller scale. Plus... The survivors say they have a..." He looked down at the notes on the desk, "a living frost wyrm."

Sylvanas' eyebrows shot into the clouds, split between satirical mirth at such a notion and worry of having to take down a creature that the Scourge had used to instill fear into their enemies. Finally after a few moments of silence, she regained her composure, "So I see you aren't joking. This witness claims to have been bested by a frost wyrm, but one that wasn't just a skeleton?"

"I wish it was all in good humor about days past, but unfortunately this is not a joke. The survivors claim they lost limbs, fingers and toes to frostbite even though it is in the middle of the warm season." Anduin rubbed his temples. "I cannot do this alone. What will it take to convince you to lend aid in this endeavor?"

She smirked. The Warchief had been waiting to be asked this question. "In the name of the Horde, I wish to claim an outpost of my choosing." She paused for a moment and added, "And yours?"

"A two year ceasefire from our conflicts. Both sides have need to recuperate from the devastating losses accrued during our defense against the Legion and further casualties in the counter attack. No exceptions. All current battles will be postponed for approximately 812 days. And all Azerite mining operations to be put on hold for six months."

"One year," Sylvanas tried to haggle. "Two months hold on mining. Gallywix will not be easy to convince to put his business on hold. As he sees it, loss of profit is worse than death."

Anduin was not having it. "Two years. For both."

Trying to tilt the deal in her favor, the undead elf suggested, "Five years ceasefire and halt on Azerite mining in exchange for control of the entirety of Lordaeron be handed over to the Horde."

"You mean the Forsaken. Absolutely not," parried the young king. "Your greed is showing."

"I'm far from being avaricious, Wrynn," Sylvanas said coolly. "Lordaeron belonged to the people who lived there in life and it remains the same in death. When will you Alliance mongrels realize this is the truth?"

Scowling, the young lion of the Alliance retorted, "Greymane will never cede any territory near Gilneas to the Horde and I agree. I won't give you a foothold that endangers my men and citizens. Choose another."

"If I must," came her carte blanche reply, tone unwavering and determined.

With pursed lips, the king of Stormwind queried, "Which Alliance occupied location would you wrest from us?"

The Forsaken Queen peered at the framed map of Azeroth painted on the ceiling of the throne room, her crimson eyes scanning with practiced sweeps. Those fiery orbs marked out various strategic positions she could possibly make use of in the future when the war was to begin. However she didn't voice anything of her own yet. Instead, she queried, "Indulge me, Baine, others; is there somewhere the Alliance controls you would like to add to your territories?"

Surprisingly, Baine was the one to add his input before the others. Tauren are usually known for their spirituality and patience. But he requested, "On behalf of the seers and shaman of Thunderbluff, we would desire a clear path through Kalimdor without coming under fire to reach the Moonglade."

With a shrug, the Night Elven sovereign replied, "Not a condition that needs to be part of the negotiations, but it can be put under consideration as it benefits both factions as well as neutral parties like the Cenarion Circle and the Earthen Ring."

"That is all I ask," replied the tauren, reseating himself. The chair creaked under the enormous tauren's weight but did not break.

Lor'themar spoke up quickly, "In accordance with Lady Windrunner's previous request for control of Lordaeron. I would agree on it although to a lesser degree. We of Silvermoon would like to shore up a few properties outside of the Ghostlands. Remove Alliance influence and retake the northern areas of the Eastern Plaguelands with hopes of restoration."

"We dwarves dunnae have a problem wit' tha. As long as ye leave th' Hinterlands alone, and don't bother the Argent Crusade working against the feral undead. What say ye, Gelbin?" inquired Moira, chin hoisted up by her palm, looking disinterested.

The gnome squeaked, "No problems here either. I welcome any destruction you do on the remaining Scourge!"

"Anyone else?"

There were a few resounding 'no's' and audible shrugs. Opening her mouth once more, the Banshee Queen asked, "Speaking of concessions, what is it that you desire from the Horde other than what we have already agreed upon?"

It took mere seconds for Tyrande to utter without room for defiance, "We want the entirety of the Horde to retreat from the Ashenvale. The forest is sacred to the Kaldorei and no longer will we stand for the defilement of our lands."

Eitrigg spoke on behalf of the orcs, "Hold on, elf. We cannot withdraw from Ashenvale that easily. Durotar has little to no lumber to harvest. And what we do have of our current territories would be exhausted in a matter of months if not years. It is not an ideal situation, I admit. But it is a necessity!"

"And you would continue to plunder the life from our lands? Unacceptable!" screeched Tyrande, almost rising from her seat.

Interrupting, Anduin said, "We're getting too off topic here. We'll revisit this issue after we've dealt with the threat at hand. Any other requests for the current negotiations?"

"The plague is not to be used or even brought to the battlefield. Not even the tamest strain your apothecaries have synthesized. Absolutely no biological warfare whatsoever. Are we clear? Do I have your word that this siege will not be a repeat of the Wrathgate?"

"Crystal," said the Banshee Queen as she shook the King's hand. Anduin tried not to shiver at the icy, firm grip on his own. "A bargain has been struck."

The Wolf King of Gilneas is forced back by a few of the Royal Guards. He was snarling and roared, "THAT TRAITOROUS BITCH IS THE REASON YOUR FATHER DIED! I'LL HAVE HER HEAD ON A PIKE!"

"You ought to keep your rabid dog on a shorter leash, High King," taunted the Warchief with a daring tone. "Perhaps you should put it down before it has a chance to turn on you."

Anduin reprimanded coldly, "I would rather you not antagonize my personnel and friends. In fact, I think it would be best if you leave and ready warriors for battle."

"So be it." With a tenuous accord struck, Sylvanas swept from the room, her guards and racial leaders of the Horde following in tow.

* * *

I was making my way through the stables- time for more groceries, and perhaps to see what fools were attempting to penetrate my defenses. I saw Midnight, the horse placid as usual, and had just enough time to wonder where her grumpy, misogynistic owner was before I felt a spear of agony in my chest. It wasn't my illness- the spray of blood showed that well enough, and as I collapsed to my knees, I heard Attumen's dark chuckle.

"Well, look what the useless puss dragged in," came the odiferous voice in my ear. His breath fouled the air, bringing a grimace to my face. Then he ripped his blade free of my body, forcing a gasp of pain out of my throat along with more blood. "You're even tracking blood everywhere. Quite rude of you. Now I'll have to whip the stable-hands while they scrub the floors spotless. Well, after I dispose of your pathetic corpse." My elven ears picked up the subtle sound of slicing wind as a weapon was quickly lifted into the air.

Too much talking. "I don't think so." His sword came down on me but it never connected- with a hoarse grunt and a wave of my hand, the same chains I'd used to imprison him before bound him again, starting with his sword arm and covering his whole body. The bloodied blade he wielded clattered to the floor, startling some of the tethered steeds

As he thrashed I slowly, painfully rose back to my feet. It hurt like hell- but I was immortal, and something as mundane as a stabbing to the chest certainly wasn't going to stop me. I pressed a palm to the wound and hissed- it was bleeding more than I liked. I spent a moment looking at my own blood before calling up an Azerothian flame spell, sealing the wound properly. It seared away most of my top in the process, not that it mattered all that much right now. I clenched my teeth, glaring at Attument's crucified form as I finished clotting the injuries on my front and back. He glared right back, eyes burning hatefully.

"That was a mistake," I rasped as I took a shaky step towards him. "One I guarantee you won't be repeating..."

I wasn't going to use Crucio on him this time. No, I had something a little more permanent in mind. And it wouldn't even require the use of the Killing Curse- a spell so vile, that had claimed so many of those I cared about I'd sworn never to use it myself.

"WHORE! WRETCHED MONGREL OF INFERIORITY! I SHALL NOT LET YOU REIGN SUPREME. EVEN IF I DIE, I'LL DRAG YOU DOWN TO HELL WITH ME!" raged Attumen, struggling and thrashing in his bindings. A simple, nonverbal spell petrified him mid air as I stalked towards my assailant as I lifted the cursed dagger skywards.

"Unlikely," I murmured as I plunged Xal'atath down into his chest. He grunted, then let out an agonized shriek as I twisted the blade, pulling it back out with a shower of gore. As I made the kill, the magical chains vanished as my concentration ebbed away.

It was in slow motion that I watched the Huntsman collapse that I captured every detail of the moment. I could see wisps of shadowy magic hovering around the wound I just made. Particles of absence of light, yet glowing slightly purple amidst the crimson rain. Time sped up to normal and blood pooled beneath his dying form.

Attumen rasped, clutching at the mortal wound I had inflicted, " My long hunt... has ended...Now, I... have become... the hunted..."

' _ **Did you feel it? The way his life ended?'**_ crooned Xal'atath sultrily. I ignored the voice in my mind. I was breathing heavily, feeling the way bile seared my throat as I forced it back down. I was never a huge fan of killing people despite it was often a necessity in my line of work when everything revolved around secrecy.

Even now, I felt the slightest bit of guilt. A mournful screech made me whirl around to see the late Huntsman's prized steed staring dolefully at me. It wasn't one of accusation, just one of misery. I felt bad, so I loped over to her while still clutching the recently closed wound on my breast.

Resting my hand on the side of Midnight's cheek, I whispered, "I'm sorry girl. So very sorry I had to permanently separate steed from her master. But he was out of control. I won't beg for your forgiveness. Just know that you may continue to stay here."

I wouldn't expect a horse to be able to reply to me, magical and vampiric or not. The dark steed formerly owned by the Huntsman whinnied sadly and rubbed her face against mine. I gave a little giggle. Well it wasn't a verbal response, but I got her message all the same.

"Sure, sure, I'll take you on some long runs and adventures when I can. Just because I am the master of the spire doesn't mean I'll ignore you," I laughed, my hand gliding through her luxurious mane.

Stamping a hoof as if accepting my statement as a promise, Midnight licked my face. Usually I'm not a fan of such affection usually applied by annoying dogs. In this case however, I took it in stride and hugged the mare's neck. "Be good, friend," I whispered to her.

As Midnight bent down to the water trough, I left the stables and headed up the stairs . As I ambled along, I barked to the empty corridor, "Dobby. "

The telltale crack signalled the house elf's arrival. He huffed and puffed to keep up with my quick pace. "What can I help you with, Mistress?"

"I'm going out for a bite, as well as picking up groceries. I'm feeling a little cooped up in here," I tell him while magicking up a new outfit to replace my currently ruined ensemble. "Don't let anyone do anything stupid. In the event that happens, come get me. Even if I'm in the middle of feeding."

Saluting, the slightly deranged elf said, "Understood!"

* * *

 **A/N: There may be some speculation of why I wrote in a certain dagger of the old gods. Fufu...I plan on turning Wren into a hybrid between a mage, warlock and a shadow priest.**

 **Wait, doesn't that sound OP and Mary-sui-esque?**

 **The answer is: Yes, yes it does. Which means I'll have to counteract her overpowered magic with enemies who are A, strong as fuck, B, have Wren's illness prevent her from casting too much and other things that prevents her from basically one-shotting everyone. I don't know if I mentioned this before, but Wren has promised herself to NEVER use Avada Kedavra. Why, it's because it's how both her parents died, how a lot of people dear to her died. She finds the soul tearing curse revolting and won't use it unless as a LAST resort.**

 **Any suggestions for the fic that aren't bathed in stupid, shoot me...I mean send a note/pm/dm whatever you want to call it.**

 _ **PS: The politics scenes are really hard for me to write and diplomacy is not my forte, so I'm trying my best.**_


End file.
